Not Right Now
by AnastaziaDanielle
Summary: When Dean is severely injured on a hunt, Sam has to become his brother's caretaker. That doesn't exactly go over well with Dean. Don't worry; we won't permanently injure the older Winchester brother. Co-written with LadyWallace.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural, although I would take Sam and LadyWallace would claim Dean if we could. We are not doctors, so please forgive any medical inaccuracies. The title comes from the song "Not Right Now" sung by Jason Gray. Don't worry; we promise not to permanently damage Dean. :)

Co-written by LadyWallace and AnastaziaDanielle.

*This chapter was written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

"I know someday  
I know somehow  
I'll be okay  
But not right now  
Not right now"

Chapter 1

Sam grimaced as he watched his older brother take a bite of a thick, juicy burger. Juice dribbled down the elder Winchester's chin as he chewed happily.

"This is great, Sam," Dean grinned around his mouthful of beef.

"No, thanks." Sam wrinkled his nose at his brother and took another bite of his salad.

"Hey, you need your strength to go hunting tonight. Full moon's a-callin', Sammy." Dean dipped a french fry liberally in ketchup before he popped it into his mouth.

Sam took a bite of his salad and glanced at his watch. They needed to get back to their motel room soon to make sure they had their gear packed and ready to go.

Dean seemed to read his mind. "We'll have plenty of time. I need a piece of pie before we go." He patted his belly and smirked at his brother.

Sam sighed. "If you keep eating pie at every meal you're going to be too out of shape to go hunting." He nearly yelped when the toe of Dean's boot connected with his shin beneath the table.

"Never come between a man and his pie, Sammy."

"It's Sam," the youngest Winchester grouched as he forked another mouthful of salad into his mouth.

After Dean had savored his slice of pie, Sam tossed a tip onto the table while Dean paid the bill at the register. Then they made their way to the Impala. Dean slid into the driver's seat and rubbed his belly with a moan. "I think I ate too much."

Sam rolled his eyes and shifted to get comfortable. They had a long night ahead of them hunting the werewolf that had killed six people over the past three months. He'd barely slept last night; his rest had been plagued with nightmares. He longed for the time to catch a short nap, but he knew that wouldn't be possible. Their supplies would need to be checked and rechecked and then loaded into the car. Sleep would have to wait until tomorrow morning after the werewolf was dead. A heavy sigh escaped his lips.

Once they reached the motel, Dean expertly checked each of his weapons and watched to make sure his younger brother did the same. One could never be too careful; it seemed as if the unexpected always happened on a hunt. "You ready, Sam?" he asked.

The youngest Winchester nodded and hefted the backpack containing his supplies. "Let's get this over with. I need a good night's sleep."

"You can sleep all you want after we gank this thing," Dean promised with a smirk.

The brothers were quiet as Dean drove the Impala down the two lane road. Sam leaned his head against the cool glass of the Impala's passenger window and stared up at the darkening sky. His brother had fallen into a moody silence; it seemed as if that's what he was like most of the time these days. It had been five long months since their father had passed, and Dean was still dealing with his loss and allowing the guilt to eat him alive. Sam sighed without realizing it.

"What's eating you, Samantha?" Dean asked, suddenly breaking the silence as he cast a glance toward his younger brother before turning his gaze back to the road.

Sam blinked in surprise and turned to look at Dean. "What? Nothing. Just thinking."

Dean didn't answer. Instead, he drummed his fingers on the steering wheel in time to the Metallica song that blasted from the car's stereo.

After driving for another ten minutes, Dean turned off onto a narrow dirt road and carefully parked the Impala behind a stand of trees out of view of the main road. He turned to look at Sam. "Ready?"

Sam nodded stoically and followed his brother out of the car. He shrugged into his backpack, grabbed his gun loaded with silver bullets, and held it tightly in his fist before following his brother through the darkening woods to the area the werewolf had been known to frequent.

The wind gently rustled the few remaining leaves on the trees. The ground was damp and muddy; it had rained earlier in the day. Sam slid as he traversed the uneven ground behind his brother and muttered a muffled curse.

Dean glanced over his shoulder. "You okay, Sammy?" he whispered.

"Fine. Keep going," Sam replied shortly. He sucked in a deep breath of damp earth and moldy leaves and stared into the forest around him, wishing the light of the full moon would cast an eerie glow over the ground. The moon had been covered by clouds as they were walking into the tree line, and now a steady rain was falling. It was really difficult to see, despite their heavy-duty flashlights. A loud rustling sounded to their right as they entered a clearing that ended in a rock-covered drop.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed as he brought his gun up in front of him, watching as a hairy, dark figure darted through the trees.

"I see it!" the younger Winchester shouted back as adrenaline raced through his veins.

Dean got off a shot that disappeared into the forest, missing the snarling werewolf completely. "Sam!" he shouted again, followed by a string of curses.

"Got it," Sam answered, his gaze narrowing as he aimed his gun at the snarling creature. He fired just as the werewolf moved. He thought he grazed the creature's arm, but he wasn't sure. The rain and the darkness made it impossible to see much of anything. The wind had started blowing the rain in their faces, and the fat, cold drops stung as they slapped against his skin.

Dean fired again, wounding the werewolf, and then let out a yell as the creature snatched him up and threw him. Dean rolled when he hit the ground and then disappeared over the edge of the rocks.

"Dean! No! Dean!" Sam yelled in terror, taking the werewolf down with a precisely aimed shot.

"Dean!" Sam screamed his brother's name again as the werewolf's body crumpled to the ground. The gun fell from his fingers and thudded into the dirt as he scrambled forward to the rocky drop-off where he'd seen his brother fall. "Dean!"

When there was no answer, Sam threw himself down on his stomach and peered over the edge. His brother was laying spread eagle on the ground, his face pale and his eyes closed. "Dean!"

The elder Winchester still did not stir. Sam knew it would take too much time to get back to the Impala for a rope so he began looking for a way to climb down to Dean. He picked his way frantically along the overhang until he found a place that was not quite as steep. As quickly as he dared, he half-climbed, half-slid down to the flat, rocky area where his brother had landed.

"Dean!" Sam hurried to his brother's side and took in his pale features. He had a bloody cut in his hairline above his temple. Carefully, Sam ran his hands over his brother's arms, legs, and torso checking for wounds and broken bones, but found none.

Gently, he slapped his brother's cool cheek. "Wake up, Dean," he ordered forcefully, frowning when his brother did not stir. Shoving Dean's coat to the side, he ran his knuckle down the elder Winchester's sternum.

Dean moaned softly.

"Dean, open your eyes," Sam commanded, repeating the motion. He watched as his brother's eyelids twitched.

Dean's head throbbed in time with the beat of his heart. He could hear the sounds of the forest around him and tried to place where he was. Slowly, his foggy thoughts began to clear. He and Sam had been hunting a werewolf. The creature had been stronger than they'd thought. He remembered the muscular hands grabbing him and the sensation of flying through the air. After that there had been an explosion of pain and then nothing.

"Dean, open your eyes," Sam pleaded as he used the edge of his shirt to wipe the blood from his brother's forehead.

Dean tried, but his eyelids were so heavy. "Ssss," was all he could manage of his brother's name. Finally, he managed to pry his eyes open. The full moon shone brightly overhead now and he could make out Sam's worried face hovering above him. The pain in his head intensified for a moment, and Dean slammed his eyes shut once more.

"Hey, stay with me," Sam encouraged him. "I need you to tell me what hurts."

Dean began to catalog his aches starting with his head. "H'dache," he slurred, blinking slowly.

Sam nodded. "Looks like you hit your head. What else?" He watched as Dean's eyes flew open in horror. "What's wrong?" he asked.

"I can't feel my legs," Dean gasped. "Sam, I can't feel my legs!" Panic engulfed him as he reflexively moved to look down at the lower half of his body.

Although he was horrified at his brother's revelation, Sam moved quickly to grasp each side of Dean's face and hold his neck still. "Don't move, Dean. If you're back is injured, you don't want to make it worse."

"Sam," Dean gulped in terror, "you have to get help."

"I'm not leaving you," Sam insisted, still holding the sides of his brother's face as he shifted so that he was sitting above Dean's head and looking down at his brother. "I'll figure something out, but I'm not leaving you here alone like this."

The temperature was beginning to drop. Sam shivered as he considered their options. There was no way he was leaving his brother. "Dean, you have to stay still, all right? I'm going to get something out of my bag."

Letting go of Dean's face with one hand, he shrugged the pack off his back. Then replacing that hand on his brother's cheek, he repeated the same motion on his other side. Next, he placed one of his feet on the bag to hold it still and wrangled the zipper open to pull out a flare.

"How are you doing, Dean?" he asked, noticing that his breath fogged in the cold air.

"Cold, Sammy," Dean chattered in reply.

"Hold still; do not move your neck," Sam ordered his brother. He quickly slipped out of his jacket and stretched it carefully over his brother's torso.

"Put your jacket back on," Dean commanded in a shaky voice.

"You need it more than I do right now," Sam commented as he focused on the flare in his hands. "I'm going to signal for help with a flare. There's a ranger station close by. I saw it on the map. They should see the flare."

Both boys winced at the brightness of the flare as it rocketed into the night sky above them. "Help will be here soon," Sammy chattered as he blinked up into the sky that had clouded over once again as a drizzly rain began to fall once again.

"You should just leave me here, Sam. I'm of no use to you without my legs." Dean's voice was riddled with bitterness.

"You don't know that this is permanent," Sam forced out through chattering teeth. "We need to let the doctors look at you, and don't think for one second that I'm leaving." Sam fumbled with the flare gun. "I'll send up another soon to help the rangers find us. Now I have to go take care of the werewolf's body or we'll have a lot of explaining to do. Don't you dare move. "

"Yes, Dad," Dean grouched weakly.

Sam returned a while later, sweaty and panting. He'd never cleaned up a scene so quickly, but he'd been anxious to get back to his brother.

"Go on back to the car. You can get help. I'll be okay." Dean forced out through teeth that chattered in the chilly, damp air.

"If you think I'm going to leave you here, you hit your head harder than I thought," Sam grouched at his brother.

They drifted into silence. Sam rifled through his pack and sent up another flare. He wasn't sure how much time passed after that before he heard voices in the inky black forest. "Down here!" he shouted. "My brother fell. We're down here!"

"We're coming!" one of the voices answered, calm and reassuring. "Keep talking so we can pinpoint your location."

"My brother fell and hurt his back. He can't feel his legs." Sam's voice broke on the last word. He glanced down at his big brother. Dean had his eyes closed and his jaw set. Sam continued to hold his brother's head so that he wouldn't move his neck.

"We'll radio back to the station for assistance," the voice assured him as it steadily moved closer.

Sam heard a radio crackle to life and then a female voice began speaking in medical jargon and requested a helicopter and the supplies that would be needed to get Dean safely to a hospital without further injuring his back.

"They're almost here, Dean," he soothed, alarmed at the coolness of his brother's skin.

"Not flyin', Sammy," the eldest Winchester slurred. "No hel'copter."

"You need to get to a hospital quickly without further injury to your back. That's the only way, Dean," he encouraged.

The voices were much closer now. "Down here!" Sam shouted again.

A bright light shone over the drop and Sam winced as it hit his eyes.

"I'm Ranger Hawkes. I have Rangers Parker and Niles with me," the same man who spoke earlier said. "What are your names?"

"I'm Sam and this is my brother Dean," Sam managed to choke out through chattering teeth.

"You said your brother has a back injury," Ranger Hawkes stated. "Any other injuries?"

"Um, he has a head wound, maybe a slight concussion," Sam ground out.

"And how are you, Sam?" the ranger asked.

"I'm okay. I climbed down. Please, just help my brother."

There was a rustling sound and then one ranger began to climb down the rocks safely hooked in a harness. Sam found himself looking into the face of a blonde man about 6 feet tall. "I'm Ranger Hawkes, Sam. Let me assess Dean while we wait for the chopper. It will be here at first light."

"I'm not flyin'," Dean insisted once again.

"We need some blankets down here," Ranger Hawkes bellowed.

Two thick blankets were immediately dropped over the edge. The ranger grabbed one and tucked it swiftly around Dean. The other he handed to Sam. "Put this around your shoulders. You don't want hypothermia."

"Dean, the best way to get you out of here without causing further injury to your back is to fly you out," Ranger Hawkes stated calmly.

"No," Dean replied stubbornly.

Sam bit his lip and sighed as worry churned in his gut. He had to convince Dean to get into that helicopter.

To Be Continued…


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to us.

Author's Note: This story is being co-written with LadyWallace. Neither of us are doctors, so please excuse the medical inaccuracies.

This chapter was written by LadyWallace.

Chapter Two

Dean couldn't believe he had made such a rookie mistake as to be thrown over a cliff by a werewolf. Dad would have had his hide for that. If he were there. Dean was partly glad he wasn't. He would never have wanted his father to see him like this: bum legs from a fall on a simple hunt. He couldn't stand to think of the knowing disappointment that would be in John's eyes if he saw his son in this situation. He should be shot like a lame horse for as much good as he would do now.

And Sam…the kid was holding it together, and he wasn't doing a terrible job of it, but Dean knew he was panicking on the inside. He could feel him trembling as he held Dean's head between his hands to keep him still, like that was going to make any difference now. It made Dean feel even worse to know that Sammy was holding everything back for his sake. He wasn't supposed to have to be the strong one, that was Dean's job and now he had botched it by one slipup. And if Sam thought he was going to get into a flying deathtrap, then he had another think coming.

"How much longer?" Sam asked the Ranger, Hawkes, in a wavering voice.

"Not long now," than man replied kindly, where he was crouching next to the brothers. He had recently given them pocket warmers to help stave off the cold air, which he had tucked around Dean's body and into Sam's pockets. Despite that, Dean felt cold all over again at the thought of flying. He must have given some indication of his discomfort because Sam's fingers tightened sympathetically against his cheeks.

"Dean you know there's no other way off this mountain," he said gently. "You're going to have to let them take you in the helicopter."

"No way, Sam," Dean ground out. "No way. I'm not going up in one of those things. I flew that once, but never again."

"I'm not going to leave you alone, Dean, I'll be right there," Sam assured him, pleading. Dean closed his eyes, so he wouldn't have to see the pain in his little brother's. "You know you have to do it."

"You may as well just leave me here to die," Dean ground out bitterly. "I'm no good anymore, Sam. I'm all Humpty-Dumptied and you'd do better to shoot me now and save yourself the trouble of putting me back together."

"Dean, no!" Sam shouted, his voice breaking with anger and a thousand other emotions. "Don't you dare, I am getting you off this mountain if I have to carry you myself!"

Ranger Hawkes watched the brothers with sympathy in his eyes, he reached out and put a kind hand on Sam's shoulder. "If I may, Sam, Dean, there's really nothing to worry about until you know more about your condition. There's no reason to think the worse until the doctors take a better look at you. You could have just damaged a nerve in your back, or the paralysis could just be temporary from swelling."

"Or I could have busted my spine," Dean growled and Sam ran an agitated hand though his hair in an attempt to soothe his brother. "Look pal, I know you're trying to help, but Winchesters don't get the easy way out. We don't have that kind of luck."

"Dean, stop," Sam pleaded softly, a shaking, frozen hand, pressing against his brother's shoulder. "Just calm down, you need to rest."

Ranger Hawkes watched the two young men with an ache forming in his chest. He had made many rescues in his time as a Ranger, and some a lot worse than this—sometimes bodies were all he found—but he knew he would remember the Winchester brothers for a long time afterward. He prayed that they would get a miracle this time, if they were so lacking in them.

The light of dawn was coming over the horizon and it was not long before the helicopter was heard in the distance. The other Rangers who had stayed up on the cliff top, called down to Hawkes that they could see it.

"It's almost here," Hawkes assured the brothers. "It won't be long before you're safe in the hospital, Dean."

"Sammy, please," Dean tried to plead one last time. "Don't let them put me in that thing."

"Dean, I'm not risking you hurting yourself more, this is the only way to get you out of here apart from carrying you through the woods and uneven terrain," Sam pleaded with him.

"You can't make me get on it," Dean said, knowing he sounded childish, but the thought of being in a helicopter, especially when he was so vulnerable, made him want to throw up, or worse, cry, and that was not like him and he didn't like it.

"Yeah, actually, I can," Sam told him, an edge to his voice. "Not like you're going anywhere."

"That's cold," Dean told him half-heartedly, knowing he was right.

"Sorry," Sam said, regretting the harsh tone of his voice.

"It will be alright, Dean," Ranger Hawkes told the young man as reassuringly as possible. "These guys are really good at what they do, and I promise they've never had an accident, even in poor weather conditions."

"That just means they're due," Dean grunted. "There's gotta be another way."

"I'm afraid your brother's right, Dean, this is the safest and quickest way to get you out of here, and the quicker we get you to a hospital, the better chance you have of full recovery."

Dean was silent, swallowing hard as they could hear the helicopter landing in a clear space on top of the cliff. Soon there were voices shouting to each other and before long, several paramedics came to the side of the cliff and called down to Ranger Hawkes who explained the situation. They had on ropes and harnesses and landed around the small party below with the equipment they would need to get Dean back up.

A middle-aged woman knelt beside Sam and introduced herself with a smile.

"I'm Kathy. We're going to get you boys out of here."

"This is Sam and Dean," Hawkes told her, indicating the brothers in turn.

"Alright, Dean," Kathy told the elder, peeling back his blankets for a minute to run her hands over him in a quick inspection. "We're going to put you on the backboard so you won't move and hurt yourself, okay?"

"I'm not flying," Dean told her firmly as two other paramedics came over with the backboard and Sam reluctantly gave his position at his brother's head to Kathy, watching tensely as two men got on either side of Dean.

"That's the only way you'll get out of here, sweetie," Kathy told him kindly as she motioned to the others, who knelt close to Dean and steadied him with their hands. She counted and they rolled him slightly to one side on three while one of the men put the backboard under him before rolling him back. Dean gritted his teeth in pain at the jostling, and tried one more time as Kathy fixed a neck brace onto him and the others worked on strapping him down tightly.

"I really don't like flying," he told her.

"It will be over before you know it," Kathy assured him, glancing up questioningly at Sam.

"He just has a phobia of heights," Sam provided quietly. "He's had…bad experiences flying that didn't help it any."

"Well, Dean, it's the least of your worries right now. We've got to get you taken care of as soon as possible, and the quickest way to do that is to take the chopper."

Sam was extremely thankful for Kathy's firm handling of the situation. Something he couldn't apply right now.

"Come on, Dean," Sam said quietly. "For me, please."

Dean looked up at him then closed his eyes. "Fine, Sammy."

Sam was instantly relieved that at least Dean had acquiesced to that. Ropes were tied to the stretcher he was strapped to and soon Dean was lifted back up to the top of the cliff. Ranger Hawkes gave Sam a rope and harness and he climbed back up to see Dean loaded into the helicopter.

"We're ready to go," Kathy said, as they got ready to close up the chopper.

"Hold on," Dean protested. "I ain't going anywhere without Sam. If he's not going, I'm not."

"There's no more room," one of the paramedics told him.

"Please," Sam called, as he realized what was happening, panic settling in his chest at the thought of being separated from Dean now and how his older brother would be alone to deal with probably one of the only things that scared him in the state he was already in. "Please let me stay with my brother, he's afraid of flying. I'm afraid he'll hurt himself if I'm not there."

"Can't one of you hop out for the kid?" Ranger Hawkes asked, coming to the brothers' aid.

Kathy motioned to one of the other paramedics. "Go, Frank. We'll get you later." The man got out and Sam climbed in before they could change their mind again. Dean visibly relaxed when he saw his brother.

"Sammy," he whispered, seeming weaker now. "My Baby."

Sam wanted to roll his eyes, but he knew that Dean wouldn't relax until he knew his car was taken care of. The only two things in the world Dean cared about were his car and his brother. He gently reached under Dean's blankets to retrieve the keys from his jacket pocket. He quickly handed them to Ranger Hawkes.

"Our car's parked at the trail entrance; black '67 Impala, if you could take care of it…"

"I'll drive it to the hospital for you," Hawkes assured him, taking the keys. "Take care of your brother, Sam."

The helicopter doors were closed after those words and Sam was left sitting there at Dean's head, reflecting on them. The same words John had told Dean over and over again, drilling into his head. Look after your brother, Dean. But now, it was Sam's turn to look after Dean. And he was going to need a lot of looking after.

"We're ready," Kathy called to the pilot, and Sam settled more firmly into his seat as he reached out and fumbled under Dean's blankets until he found his hand, which he squeezed reassuringly, his other hand resting on top of Dean's head. The elder Winchester's eyes were closed and he was breathing raggedly. Kathy saw this and fixed an oxygen mask over his face to help even his breathing. It seemed to help calm Dean a bit, but the pressure of his fingers around Sam's especially when the helicopter made a turn, let Sam know he was still far from okay, and certainly not unconscious. That was a good thing, considering he might have a concussion, but at the same time, Sam wished his brother could be sedated so he wouldn't have to deal with this. Remembering the last plane trip they had taken, which had almost crashed due to the phantom traveler, Sam leaned closer to Dean's ear and started humming Metallica. Dean's eyes cracked open in surprise, as Sam self-consciously continued his off-tune humming, and if it didn't exactly calm Dean down, the thought that Sam hoped it would made him feel a little bit better.

"Only a couple more minutes," Kathy assured the brothers.

When they landed at the hospital, Dean breathed an obvious sigh of relief and Sam reluctantly left his side so the paramedics could get him out and onto a gurney that several of the hospital staff ran up with. Sam hopped out of the helicopter and followed them inside, unsure of what to do when he was accosted by a nurse.

"I'll show you to the waiting room," she said.

"Could I stay with my brother?" Sam asked, worried that Dean might freak out if he wasn't there. He hated hospitals, always had, but since last time he was in one, he had been hounded by a reaper, and their father had died, he was even less friendly to them than he had been before.

"You can see him as soon as the doctor finishes his examination," the nurse told him kindly. "You'll just get in the way."

Sam ran a shaking hand through his hair. "Okay, but if he needs me, will you let me go?"

The nurse nodded, likely just to appease him, and showed him to the ER waiting room and handed him a clipboard with paperwork on it. "If you could fill this out for me, I'm sorry to have to ask it of you now, but it needs to be done."

Sam nodded numbly and took the clipboard, but could only get so far as to write Dean's name before he couldn't find the strength to move the pen any further. His hands shook, and his stomach roiled. Shock was setting in, finally, now that he was alone, and he didn't have to be strong for Dean. He bolted upright, and the nurse at the front desk asked him if he was okay, but he ignored her and sprinted for the bathroom down the hall. He barely made it before his stomach decided to empty itself and collapsed at the nearest toilet and threw up. He gasped for breath when there was nothing left in his stomach and tears streamed down his face.

"It's okay, it's okay, it might not be that bad," he whispered to himself. "Please, please just this once, can we get off easy." He had to believe that Dean wasn't hurt that bad, wasn't…he couldn't bring himself to even think his deepest fear. That Dean would never walk again. To Sam, that wouldn't make any difference; he would love his brother all the same, but for Dean…it would kill him, or he would blow his own brains out. And because of that he had to be okay, because Sam couldn't see him suffer like that. It would kill him too.

"Please, Dean you have to be okay," he sobbed, resting his head in his hands as he sat on the disgusting bathroom floor. He stayed like that for several more minutes, trying to gather himself, but was afraid someone would find him there and decided to go out and see if he could see Dean yet.

He flushed the toilet and went to wash his face in the sink, trying to scrub the tears from his cheeks, but his eyes were still red and puffy and he knew that the minute Dean saw him he would know. He could kick himself. Why couldn't he be strong like Dean? Could he not even be there to support his brother when he would need him more than ever?

He threw the paper towels away and left the bathroom to return to his spot in the waiting room, ignoring the nurse at the counter. He sat down again and rested his head in his hands, deciding that if they wanted the paperwork done, they were just going to have to wait until he could think straight. Besides, there was the whole problem of insurance, which made him want to cry in frustration. Why couldn't anything ever be easy?

It seemed like eternity before the doctor, a man in his forties with a pleasant enough face, and salt and pepper hair, came out.

"Family of Dean Winchester?" he asked.

Sam leapt up instantly. "Is my brother alright? Can I see him?"

The doctor smiled. "Of course, we've got him in a room now. I'd like to talk to both of you."

Sam swallowed hard, wanting to strangle the doctor for information. He did not like the sound of this. He wanted to know before Dean found out, wanted to know how bad it was.

"Please, Doctor, how bad is he?"

"Patience, Mr. Winchester, I'll get to that very soon." He opened a door and showed Sam in. The younger Winchester shot past him and ran to Dean's side, already hating the sight of him strapped in the bed so he couldn't move and injure himself further, his neck still in a brace, and wearing the flimsy hospital gown that made him look so vulnerable. His eyes met Sam's and brightened a bit, his hand turning palm upward in invitation. Sam swallowed the lump in his throat as he took it. Dean, of the 'no chick flick moments' was asking for him to hold his hand. That was more indication than anything that Dean was scared as hell. But then as Dean squeezed his hand, Sam wondered if it hadn't been for him instead, and worried just how much his anxiety was showing on his face.

The doctor closed the door and came over to the brothers. "We did several x-rays on Mr. Dean Winchester. It seems that when he fell, he received major bruising to the spine, which has caused swelling around a couple vertebrae in the lower back, which is pressing on the spinal cord, thus paralyzing the lower half of your body."

"But that's good right, it can be healed?" Sam asked, just wishing the doctor would get to the point.

"Nothing about a back injury is good," the doctor told him seriously, and Sam's heart was instantly in his throat again. "If we can get the swelling down, and there's no permanent damage done to the spinal cord, then, yes, it is possible that you could regain full movement again with lots of rigorous physical therapy."

"And if not?" Sam choked out.

The doctor looked at the brothers with a sympathetic expression. "Then I'm afraid you might have to get used to the idea of never walking again."

To Be Continued…

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	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural. Neither of us are doctors, so we are pretty sure that our medical info in inaccurate although we did online research.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 3

The words "never walking again" resonated through Sam's mind as he gulped and looked at his big brother. Dean's face was pale, his freckles standing out with startling clarity against his skin. His hand twitched involuntarily in Sam's grip at the doctor's words.

Sam swallowed hard, finding his throat as dry as cotton. "So, what do we do next? Is there any treatment for this or do we just wait for the swelling to go down?" It was hard to imagine, his strong, independent big brother needing help to live his daily life.

"I'm going to start you on some powerful steroids to see if we can get the swelling down," the doctor addressed Dean. "I'm also going to get a physical therapist to come speak with you. There are exercises that must be done every day in order to keep the muscle tone in your legs. You also need to learn how to get yourself in and out of a wheelchair."

"No." Dean spoke flatly, and his tone brooked no argument.

"Dean!" Sam grunted.

"No, Sam. No wheelchair." Dean's jaw was clenched tightly and he released his brother's hand. "Either I walk out of here on my own two feet or you can bring me my gun."

"Dean," Sam said again, this time nearly pleading with his brother. "Just give the swelling time to go down. It sounds like we don't even know what we're dealing with until that happens." He turned his gaze to the doctor. "How long will it take the steroids to work?"

The doctor looked at both brothers earnestly. "We will have to see. Every patient is different." Then he looked directly at Dean. "I will also have a counselor come and speak with you. Your life has changed dramatically in one day. That's a lot to digest."

Dean practically snarled. "I'm not talking to a shrink." His hands fisted the crisp, white sheets and he stared up at the ceiling feeling helpless. He couldn't leave the room or even roll over. He clenched his teeth so hard that his jaw ached.

"Dean," Sam began quietly.

"No, Sam!" he spat. "I don't want to talk about it." He closed his eyes and willed his brother to drop the argument. He heard Sam sigh and then the shuffling of feet as both Sam and the doctor left the room and stepped out into the hallway, shutting the door behind them. The low rumble of voices filtered into the room, but Dean couldn't make out their words.

Instead, he opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling tiles. It was a strange feeling to be numb from the waist down. He looked as if to reassure himself that his legs and feet were still there. Straining from the effort, he tried to move even just a toe, but was unable to get his body to cooperate.

Heaving a frustrated sigh, he willed his mind away from the fact that he couldn't walk – would possibly never walk again. Instead, he counted the tiles on the ceiling and then the faint beeps on one of the machines hooked to his body. The repetitive noise made him drowsy and soon his eyelids dipped closed as he drifted into slumber.

Outside in the hallway, Sam tried to commit each of the doctor's words to memory. "So, will we know how much movement he will recover once the swelling goes down?"

"Not necessarily," the doctor explained. "Recovery for Dean will not be complete until he has quite a bit of physical therapy. Your brother has a hard road ahead of him."

"Dean isn't a quitter," Sam told the doctor even as seeds of doubt niggled in the back of his mind. His brother hadn't been the same since the death of their father a few months ago. "That talk about the gun, he's just trying to process what's happened to him."

The doctor nodded in understanding. "Your brother is going to go through a gamut of emotions, Sam. He will need you to be strong for him."

"I'll do whatever I can for him, Doctor," Sam promised. "My brother has never given up on me, and I'm not going to let him down."

The doctor reached out to shake Sam's hand. "I have some other patients to check on, but I will be back to see Dean before my shift is over. You make sure to get some rest."

"I will," the younger Winchester replied. "Thank you for everything." He watched as the doctor nodded and then made his way down the hall to another room. Despair settled in his gut, but he shoved it away. He had to be strong for Dean the way his brother had always put on a brave face for him.

Returning to Dean's room, he settled onto the couch that was nestled in front of the room's large window once he had reassured himself that his brother was indeed asleep. Sam tugged the blanket from the back of the couch and attempted to curl his long body up to fit into the extra small area. He couldn't quite fit, so his legs hung off the couch uncomfortably onto the floor. He pulled the blanket around his shoulders to ward off the chill of the hospital room as he closed his eyes.

Sam's thoughts wandered to the days ahead. First, they would have to see how quickly Dean recovered. Sam decided his first goal needed to be to get his brother out of this hospital as soon as possible. After their father's death, the last place either Winchester wanted to be right now was in a hospital. Knowing the special equipment his brother would need, Sam didn't feel as if a hotel would meet their needs. Perhaps he'd be able to find them a small apartment close to the hospital.

He shifted on the tiny couch and nearly rolled off into the floor before he caught himself. He grunted and made himself comfortable once again as he continued to plan. He would not allow Dean to go to a rehab facility. Sam knew that his brother would resent having to go there and would only withdraw further into himself. No, an apartment close to rehab would be the best thing for Dean.

A moan from the bed drew his attention. Sam pushed to a sitting position and his blanket pooled in his lap. He looked toward his brother to see Dean's face scrunched up in the throes of a nightmare. Tossing the blanket haphazardly to the side, Sam hurried to his brother's bedside. "Dean, it's okay," he soothed before he even reached his brother.

Sam frowned as Dean tossed his head from side to side as he slept, the dream still plaguing his sleep.

"No, Dad, watch out!" Dean yelled as sweat began to bead on his forehead.

Sam placed a reassuring hand on his brother's forearm. "Dean, it's just a dream. Come on, man. Wake up."

"I can't walk, Dad," Dean was nearly sobbing in his sleep now. "I won't be able to watch Sam's back. I'm so sorry, Dad. I'm sorry."

"Dean," Sam barked as he felt his throat tighten with emotion. Tears burned in his eyes, but he blinked them back.

Dean's eyes snapped open and he blinked rapidly in the dim light of the hospital room. "Sam?" he queried in confusion.

"I'm here," Sam replied a bit unsteadily.

The events of the past day rushed back to Dean and his face blanched as he remembered why he was in the hospital. He swallowed hard and tried once again to move his legs, but he still couldn't feel them. A frustrated groan escaped his lips. "I'm useless, Sam. You should just take me out back and shoot me."

"You don't really mean that," Sam sighed tiredly as he scrubbed a hand over his face.

"Bite me," Dean snarled as he flung an arm over his eyes and turned his head away from his brother.

"Look, Dean, the doctor said things should be better once the swelling goes down, and that's not going to happen overnight."

"There's no guarantee I'll ever get the feeling back in my legs, Sam, and if that happens you'll be changing my diapers. No way!" Dean huffed out a frustrated, angry breath.

Sam's heart clenched at the pain that laced his brother's words. He knew Dean had been hurting since the death of their father; the guilt was eating him alive. Now Dean felt useless; he believed he was a burden. Sam knew that Dean was used to being the caregiver; it was hard for him to step back and let someone take care of him.

Making a sudden decision, Sam reached out and placed a firm hand on his brother's forearm. "Dean, I'm not giving up on you. We're in this together. Whether you walk again or you don't, it doesn't matter. We will find a way to make it work. I promise; I'm not going anywhere."

"You should, Sam," Dean sighed, suddenly sounding tired. "If you won't bring me my gun, then put me in a home somewhere and go live your life. I don't want to hold you back."

"I don't believe this!" Sam nearly shouted at his brother as he surged to his feet and began to pace back and forth in the small room. "Dean, you are not a burden to me. You could never be a burden. I was a burden to you; it was you that practically raised me, not Dad. You gave up your childhood to give me mine. We _will_ get through this."

"Just leave, Sam. I need some time alone."

"No, Dean, I'm not leaving you," Sam replied as he drew on patience he never knew he had.

"Just give me some space, all right?" Dean asked, the harshness in his tone disappearing. He sounded tired and worn down. "I'm not going to do anything to hurt myself; I just need to think. I promise."

Sam studied his brother's face and finally decided that Dean was telling the truth. "Okay," he finally agreed, "but call me if you need me and I'm coming straight back."

Dean gave a small nod. "I will."

Sam hated to leave his brother. He even paced up and down the hallway several times before he could convince himself to leave the hospital. The sun was just creeping up over the horizon as he exited the brick building's sliding doors. Sam took in a deep breath of fresh air and glanced down at the newspaper in his hand that he'd picked up in the lobby. He was determined to find an apartment that would meet Dean's needs.

Sam was feeling quite pleased with himself as he returned to the hospital around noon. He'd showered and shaved and then checked out three different apartment complexes. The third seemed to be just what they'd need while his brother recovered. Sam had put a deposit on it and snapped some pictures on his phone to show his brother.

As he neared his brother's room, he heard Dean's frustrated cursing and quickened his steps. As he rounded the door, he found his brother attempting to lift himself from the bed to the wheelchair. Dean slipped and the therapist caught him and helped him get back into place on the bed. Sam hurried forward, eager to help.

Dean practically snarled as Sam neared him. "I don't need a wheelchair."

The therapist, a red-haired, middle-aged woman, planted her hands on her hips and glared at the elder Winchester brother. "And how, Mr. Winchester, do you plan on getting out of this hospital?"

Dean glowered at her.

"You already have considerable upper body strength, Mr. Winchester. It won't take you long to master this skill. Plus, I'm going to show you some exercises you can do with the therapists once you move to the rehab facility."

"Rehab facility?" Dean echoed her. "Oh, no way. I'm going home with my brother."

"Mr. Winchester," the therapist sighed.

Sam broke in before she could say anything more. "My brother isn't going to a rehab facility. Dean is going to live with me in the apartment I've rented. I'll see that he gets to rehab each day, and I'll help him with his exercises at home."

Dean's eyebrows raised in surprise at the news that Sam had found them an apartment.

"He'd get better care in a rehab facility," the therapist argued.

"No one would care for my brother better than me," Sam shot back quickly, feeling his cheeks redden with a rush of anger.

The therapist sucked in a breath, but before she could reply the doctor breezed in the doorway.

"How are you doing, Dean?" he asked as he read over his patient's chart. "Your vitals look good."

"Still can't feel anything," Dean told him, his voice tight.

"That's to be expected," the doctor assured him. "I'd like to schedule you for an MRI tomorrow to check on the swelling. Hopefully, the steroids will begin to do their job at that point." He checked Dean's reflexes and made some notes on his chart as the therapist slipped out the door with a quiet promise to return once the doctor had finished his exam.

"My brother isn't going to a rehab facility," Sam blurted, unable to hold his tongue any longer. "I've rented an apartment. I'll be able to get Dean back and forth to rehab each day, and I can work with him at home."

The doctor calmly continued to make notes on Dean's chart before he answered. "I will have someone come and talk to you about the care your brother will require each day. I want to make sure that you are aware of what your brother's needs will entail."

"It doesn't matter what Dean needs. Whatever it is, I'll see that he gets it," Sam answered vehemently.

The doctor nodded. "All right then, we will talk further once I get the MRI results back tomorrow."

Once the doctor left, Dean glared pointedly at his brother. "You rented an apartment."

"You're not going to a rehab facility," Sam stated flatly. "I'm going to take care of you because that's what family does."

"What if I just want to be left alone, Sammy?" Dean sighed tiredly. "I don't want you to see me like this. I want to be the one watching your back. That's who I am; it's what I do."

"I realize that," Sam replied, "and you will have my back again before we know it. Everyone needs help sometimes, Dean, whether or not we want to admit it."

Dean shook his head. "I don't need or want your help. I want you to leave me alone or else bring me my gun and let me put myself out of my misery."

Sam quirked an eyebrow at his brother. "Aren't you getting ahead of yourself? We don't know what the MRI will show tomorrow."

Dean turned his head away from Sam. "I'm tired. I'm going to sleep."

Sam settled on the couch in front of the window. "I'll be here when you wake up."

The day passed slowly. Dean dozed off and on. He remained silent and brooding when he was awake. Sam drank the hospital's poor excuse for coffee and worked a crossword book he'd purchased in the gift shop.

Dean's MRI was early the next morning and the results were in by late afternoon. "Well, Dean," the doctor smiled as he entered the room, "the steroids are doing their job and the swelling is beginning to decrease. I would guess that you will begin to regain some feeling in your lower extremities by the end of the week."

Sam grinned and slapped his brother's leg, forgetting that Dean wouldn't be able to feel it.

Dean found it strange to see Sam's hand landing on his legs, yet there was no feeling there at all. His face was a mirror of confusion and uncertainty. "Will I have full use of my legs right away?"

The doctor shook his head. "Unfortunately, I think you will have quite a bit of physical therapy ahead of you."

Dean groaned and stared up at the ceiling.

"It's okay, Dean," Sam soothed. "We've got this." He turned to the doctor. "When can I take him home?"

The doctor smiled. "Maybe tomorrow if things continue as they are now. I will have someone come and speak with you about his care and physical therapy."

Sam nodded and stood to shake the doctor's hand. "Thank you, Doctor, for everything."

"You are very welcome," he smiled.

Sam fixed his gaze on his brother. Dean stared listlessly out of the window as his teeth gnawed his bottom lip anxiously. Sam began to worry that although he could fix his brother's physical ailments, perhaps there was nothing he could do for the emotional ones.

To Be Continued…

Thanks for reading! Please take the time to review.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to us. We are not doctors, so please forgive our medical inaccuracies.

*This chapter was written by LadyWallace.

Not Right Now

Chapter Four

Sam spent another fitful night's sleep on the couch in the hospital room, woken frequently by Dean having nightmares, or simply being uncomfortable. He finally just ended up sitting by the bed and fell asleep on his folded arms beside Dean's shoulder. His stomach was knotted from anxiety, and he had barely eaten at all since they had gotten to the hospital. He knew he was going to do anything he could for Dean to get him back onto his feet, but he would be lying if he said it was going to be easy. And the fact that Dean had such a horrible lack of self worth made him sad and angry all at the same time. Ever since their dad had died for Dean, it had been like Dean felt he hadn't been worth the sacrifice. He didn't talk a lot about it to Sam, and the younger brother hadn't expected him too, but he knew that what had happened had really hit Dean hard, and had only been exacerbated by this horrible accident. Sam didn't know how he was going to fix his brother; he only knew that he had to.

He woke with a start as the door to the room opened and the doctor came in, smiling kindly at the boys. Dean was also awake, staring blankly ahead, and Sam wondered how long he had been like that.

"Good morning, Dean, how are you feeling?" the doctor asked as he set his clipboard aside and began to check Dean's vital signs.

The elder Winchester gave him a withering glance that said more than anything else. Sam refrained from sighing. He couldn't wait until he could get Dean out of here.

The doctor finished his examination, and made a few notes on his papers. "You seem to be doing well, Mr. Winchester. Are there any concerns you have?"

"Yeah," Dean replied. "When am I getting out of here?"

The doctor smiled patiently. "Hopefully this afternoon. The therapist will come by later with information about what you and your brother will need to do at home to get you on the road to recovery, and after that, there's really nothing more that we can do for you here, and you have not taken a turn for the worst so you should be able to go."

Dean grunted, and the doctor left again. The elder Winchester was tense, his hands fisted into his sheets and there were dark circles under his eyes. Sam reached out and rubbed his forearm in attempt to soothe him, but Dean just shrugged him off.

"Is there anything I can do for you, Dean?" Sam asked helplessly.

"You can get me the hell out of here," Dean growled. "I am so freaking tired of being poked and prodded, and I just want to go somewhere and die in peace."

"You're not dying, Dean," Sam said in exasperation. "Stop being such a drama queen."

"You're a drama queen, bitch," Dean shot back.

"Whatever you say, jerk," Sam replied with less heat than he normally would have.

Dean watched his face for a few moments, quiet, and then turned away, seeming sad by what he saw there. Sam had seen himself in the bathroom mirror that morning and knew he looked terrible from the lack of sleep he'd had the last few days, and the worry. It hurt him so much to see his brother suffering like that that he almost wanted to run away, but he could never leave Dean either when he was in that situation. He only wished his brother could have a more positive outlook on it. That was all he asked.

A nurse brought Dean breakfast but he hardly ate any of it even though Sam pleaded with him.

"This food sucks, Sam," he said in protest, even though Sam knew it was just because he didn't want to eat. It could have been a bacon cheeseburger and he wouldn't have touched it.

"I'll get you something better when we get to the apartment," Sam promised him.

Dean was silent for a long moment then he said, "Thank you."

Sam was so shocked he almost thought he had misheard. "For what?"

Dean gave him an annoyed look, then sighed resignedly. "For getting the apartment. Even though I really wish you'd just leave me in the rehab facility, I would much rather not stay there. Even if the nurses are hot. I mean, it sounds like I'm an ex-druggie or something."

Sam forced a smile at his brother's attempted joke, but his heart was aching at the vulnerability that showed through Dean's stoic demeanor. Sam was one of the only people he let his walls down around and seeing it happening now, gave Sam hope that he might be caving a little. Maybe enough to at least see reason.

He clammed up again as the door opened and the therapist entered the room. Dean pretended to ignore her so Sam did most of the talking. She explained to Sam what his duties would be and gave them literature on all the exercises and care Dean would need.

"It's going to be rough, especially before feeling starts to come back to your legs," she said in no uncertain terms. "And you will have to attend actual rehab if you want any chance of gaining full use of your legs back. You have to be willing to work hard and do anything you need to."

"I'll make sure he does," Sam assured her, ignoring Dean's dirty look.

She looked a bit skeptical before turning back to Dean. "You still need to learn how to get into a wheelchair, otherwise you're not leaving this hospital."

"Wanna bet, lady?" Dean growled before Sam stepped in apologetically, knowing that the worst way to get Dean to do anything was to force him into it. It made him instantly want to rebel.

"He'll learn how to do it. I'll help him. Why don't you bring it in here?" Sam suggested.

The therapist nodded. "Alright, I'll be back. Can I talk to you a moment, Mr. Winchester?" she addressed Sam, and the younger brother followed her out the door, away from Dean's hearing. Sam frowned, wondering what she could have to say that she couldn't in front of Dean.

"I don't think you realize what you're getting into taking most of the responsibility for your brother's care onto your shoulders," she told him.

"I think I can manage," Sam replied, starting to get angry.

"I just want you to understand that you cannot afford to baby him or let things slide because he's family and you don't want to upset him. You're going to have to be tough and do what needs to be done, even if it is uncomfortable or it hurts him. That's why I don't suggest family members taking on such big responsibilities. Often care is compromised because they don't have what it takes to get the job done."

Sam's fists clenched at his sides as he glared at the therapist. "Maybe you don't understand. All my life, Dean has looked after me, he practically raised me—he pulled me out of a fire when he was only four years old. He's all the family I have left, so if you think that I can't or won't do anything I can to get him better, then you have no right to suggest you know me or what I'm willing to or capable of doing for my bother."

It had come out more heated than he wanted it to, but he hadn't liked the woman's tone, and he was so tired and anxious and sick for his brother that he couldn't say it any other way. And how dare she think he couldn't look after his brother? It was the least he could do after all the years Dean spent looking after him.

She seemed somewhat impressed instead of offended, however, and simply nodded. "That's good to know. I'll go get the wheelchair."

Sam watched her walk away and composed himself before he went back inside to Dean.

"What was that all about?" Dean asked, mildly curious.

"Just do what she tells you or you might end up in the rehab facility anyway," Sam told him, still angry about what the therapist said. Dean watched him closely, but didn't say anything. They were both silent until the therapist came back with the wheelchair and the doctor.

"I tell you what, Dean," the doctor said, much friendlier than the therapist had been. "If you can get into that wheelchair, I'll let you check out right now."

"What am I, freaking five?" Dean growled low but caught Sam's glace and sighed heavily. "Fine, what do I have to do?"

"You'll learn how to lift yourself in like we tried yesterday," the therapist said, and helped him to sit up. Sam watched anxiously as she gave instructions and Dean cursed under his breath and made several failed attempts, that had him biting his lip in frustration before he finally managed to maneuver himself into the wheelchair, with the therapist's help, much to Sam's relief.

"There, happy, can I leave now?" Dean growled, breathless. His jaw was clenched in the way Sam knew he did when he was trying to hide the fact he was in pain. The doctor filled out some paperwork as Sam came over to Dean and settled a hand on his shoulder, knowing better than to tell him he did a good job. Dean stiffened but didn't shake him off.

"I suppose we can let you go now, Mr. Winchester," the doctor told him with a smile. He was secretly impressed with the older of the two brothers and perhaps even more so with the younger for holding things together as well as he was doing. He wished them the best of luck in the world.

After they filled out several papers and signed them, the doctor handed over Dean's things and several prescriptions for pain medicine and gave them leave to go.

"I've scheduled everything for you at the rehab facility," the doctor told them before they left. "Dean will start there tomorrow afternoon. Here is the information and all the paperwork so you can get a head start on that. Apart from that, just look at the info I gave you earlier, Sam, that will talk about your brother's care and if you have any questions, don't hesitate to call."

"Thank you," Sam said genuinely as he handed Dean the paperwork and maneuvered the wheelchair out the door and toward the lobby.

"Only a little longer, Dean, then I can get you settled at home."

Dean didn't answer, he was brooding, and Sam refrained from sighing. He hoped this wouldn't last once he had gotten Dean settled into the apartment. He had already brought their things there and gotten everything set up as well as he could to the requirements of what Dean would need.

Dean seemed to relax a bit as soon as they left the hospital and he could see the Impala in the parking lot. Sam wheeled the chair over to the back door and opened it up to get Dean inside.

"I wanna sit in the front, Sam," Dean informed him.

"I thought it would be comfier to lay down in the back," Sam told him.

Dean gave him a look, and Sam sighed, opening the passenger door instead and deciding it didn't make a ton of difference anyway. Dean was going to have a lot of options taken from him for a while, so he should get to choose the things he was able to.

Sam helped Dean into the car with a bit of arguing and struggling on Dean's part before Sam just had to practically lift him inside, fearing Dean would hurt himself. The elder Winchester was not happy about it, but he was just going to have to get used to it.

Sam folded the wheelchair and put it in the trunk before he got in the car and turned it on, backing out of the parking lot.

"How far is the place?" Dean asked.

"Not far," Sam told him as he pulled out onto the street. "The rehab facility is only down the street from it."

Dean huffed and turned away from him, his hands clenched over his nerveless legs. Sam watched him out of the corner of his eye, his chest aching, and just wishing he could do something to fix Dean quicker. He didn't deserve this, especially not now when he was already suffering so much. Sam was honestly afraid that this injury would break him.

They got to the apartment and Sam grabbed the wheelchair and helped Dean into it again, pushing him inside and taking the elevator up to the third floor where their room was. He pulled out his key and opened the door, backing Dean into the room and turning him around.

"Home sweet home," he told his brother with a smile. "What do you think?"

"I want to go to bed," Dean grumped at him. "I didn't sleep hardly at all in the hospital. No one would leave me alone and continuously poked at me."

Sam bit back a huff. "You don't want to eat first? I can get whatever you want. No more crappy hospital food."

"No," Dean informed him. "But I want a shower, I can't stand the smell of hospitals."

Sam had to agree that he wouldn't be able to rest either until he had washed the smell off of him and gotten the clothes into the laundry. "Okay, I'll set up the shower. I got a chair to put in it so you can sit down. Then I'll help you wash up."

"Don't need help," Dean told him stubbornly. "I'm not a baby, I can wash myself."

Sam bit his lip, knowing that one thing Dean had an abundance of was pride, and even if they had seen each other at their lowest more times than they could count, it was hard for Dean to admit he needed help with something so mundane as taking a shower.

"Dean, come on, don't make this harder than it has to be," Sam pleaded. "Just let me help. It will be too difficult for you to do it, and you'll end up hurting yourself."

"Sam," Dean tried to protest.

"Dean, please."

"Fine," Dean growled, and Sam, relieved, wheeled him into the bathroom where he helped him to undress and got him sitting in the chair in the shower. Dean was silent through the whole thing, not meeting Sam's eyes, and sat limply as Sam washed him as quickly as possible. The obvious shame on Dean's face made Sam want to cry. Part of him wished he didn't have to be the one to do this, but another part knew that he could never allow his brother to suffer the same humiliation at someone else's hands. Besides, if he gave up that would just prove that therapist right, that he wasn't cut out for this job, and Sam knew no one was as qualified to take care of his brother as he was. Dean might be ashamed of the fact that Sam would have to help him even with the simplest things, but Sam was also probably the only person on earth who he would allow to help him.

It was difficult getting Dean dry and into a clean pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt, but eventually, Sam managed it after Dean stopped trying to help, and he took him back into the room and settled onto the bed. He gave Dean water and the TV remote and took a quick shower himself so Dean couldn't smell the hospital on him. When he got back, he pulled out the therapy information they had gotten.

"We should do some of your exercises, Dean," Sam told him.

Dean closed his eyes with a groan. "Sam, come on. I've been messed around with enough. I just want to rest."

Sam got that stubborn look on his face and shook his head. "Dean, listen. I know you're hurting, and I know this sucks, okay, but you need to fight through this, and I'm here to help you, but I can't if you won't let me. I can't make you do anything, but if this will help you recover, then I hope you will consider it at least."

"Do what you want, I can't stop you," Dean told him.

Sam sighed, but decided not to comment and make it worse. He got the papers and showed them to Dean where there were instructions and pictures. "See, these are some of the exercises, We won't do too much today, but we need to keep your leg muscles and tendons worked, otherwise it will take that much longer for them to get their strength back once you get feeling in them again."

Dean huffed and Sam stood up and worked on several flexing exercises, starting at Dean's ankles and moving up. Dean was silent, watching his brother touching his legs, but feeling nothing. It was the strangest and most unpleasant experience he had ever had and he finally couldn't take it anymore.

"That's enough, Sam, stop," he said.

Sam stopped what he was doing instantly. "What's wrong, am I hurting you?"

Dean shook his head his fists clenching at his sides. "No, I can't feel anything, remember?! This is stupid, it's not doing anything. I wish you'd just leave me alone and let me die in peace."

"Dean, you know you're not dying," Sam said in exasperation. "Come on, man, can't we at least try this?"

"Sam, stop!" Dean pleaded. "Please. I think we both know how this is going to end. When does anything ever turn out good for us? Mom died, and then Dad died trying to find the thing that killed her, none of that ended well. And now I'm worthless, because I can't do anything. I can't hunt, and I can't watch your back, or look after you, and you should have just checked me into the rehab place and left me there and went to live a normal life. Because this is your chance, Sam. Let me rot somewhere and go back to school, have a family, or if you're feeling merciful let me end it myself."

"I don't want a normal life!" Sam shouted, so angry at Dean for having so little faith in himself. "I want my brother, and I want to help him. You are not worthless, Dean, I just wish you'd let me help you!"

"Well, you're an idiot!"

"Why, because I won't let you do this alone, because I won't run off and leave my crippled 'worthless' brother to someone else's care?" Sam demanded, his voice raising. "Would you Dean? You know you wouldn't. If I was where you are now, you would raise hell to get me back to normal again even if I didn't want you to. Why do you think I wouldn't?"

"It's different, Sam, I'm the oldest, I'm supposed to look after you."

"That's crap," Sam snorted. "I know Dad brainwashed you to think that was the only way family works, but that doesn't mean I can't take care of you. I don't get a free pass."

"Don't bring Dad into this, Sam," Dean growled. "If you want a free pass, you can take it. I don't need you anyway."

"That's not what I meant, Dean," Sam said, trying to regain control on his emotions. "You know that's not what I meant."

"Whatever, do what you want, Sam. Fix me, dump me on the side of the street, I don't care. I'm just done talking about it."

Sam threw his hands up and turned sharply to grab his jacket. "Fine, you know what, I'm going to go get food, and we can both cool down and come back and have an adult conversation."

"You're the one who is so naïve as to believe this can all turn out well, Sam," Dean called after him.

Sam spun around. "It's called faith, Dean, and I'm sorry you don't have any more of it." He slammed the door behind him, and Dean was left all alone.

He pressed his head back into the pillow, and squeezed his eyes against the burning. He wanted to break something, or better yet, gank some monster, but that was all out of the question. Instead, he just pounded his fist uselessly against the mattress, knowing he shouldn't have yelled at Sam; the kid was just trying to help, but he was so done with everything and this just seemed like the last straw, and maybe it was telling him something. He knew he was already on borrowed time, he was supposed to have died instead of his father, so maybe this was just fate's little joke on him. Well it was freaking hilarious.

He tried to watch TV for a while but was unable to concentrate. He finally decided to try and get up to use the restroom. The last thing he needed right now was to have an 'accident' and go through the humiliation of Sam having to clean him up. Besides, if Sam was so adamant in the fact he wasn't worthless with two bum legs, he supposed he could attempt to prove it by getting into his wheelchair himself.

It was still beside the bed and he edged himself over to grab it, pulling it closer and began to maneuver himself into it. It was so much work, and he was cursing, straining to lift himself up. Why did he seem to have no strength left in his body? Several tears leaked out in frustration and only made him angrier. He tried one last effort, but his hand slipped from the wheelchair and in another instant he was landing on the floor, his cheek smacking against the chair's arm.

Pain jolted through his body, except his legs, which remained senseless as usual. Dean tried pushing himself upright, but it only made it worse and he buried his face in the crook of his arm, sobs of frustration coming out against his will. He had been such an idiot thinking he could do anything himself, and now he couldn't even move.

"Sammy," he whispered. But his brother wasn't there because he had yelled at him and made him angry, and now he wouldn't even blame him if he didn't come back. Instead he just lay there on the cold floor and his tears only added insult to injury.

Sam picked up some groceries from the store, and figured he would make Dean soup for dinner as he probably wasn't going to want to eat anything anyway. He felt terrible about his outburst almost as soon as he had walked out the door. He had already failed in his opinion, and he knew he needed to do better, just like Dean needed to accept what he had to do to recover.

Sam drove back as quickly as possible and hoped his brother had calmed down a bit as well.

He unlocked the door and called to Dean as soon as he came in, setting the bags in the small kitchen.

"Dean, I'm back."

He didn't hear a response, but wasn't entirely surprised. He was taking off his jacket when he heard a muffled sound coming from Dean's room. He frowned and started toward the door, when he heard a distinct, "Help."

Sam pushed through the door, his heart dropping as he saw the empty bed.

"Dean!" he shouted, then caught sight of the feet sticking out from behind the bed on the floor. Sam ran the few feet and skidded to his knees beside the crumpled form of his brother.

"Dean, what happened?" Sam asked, putting a hand gently on his shoulder and feeling him shaking.

"Fell, Sammy," Dean whispered.

Sam swallowed hard and checked Dean over gently to make sure he hadn't hurt himself further. He lifted up the back of his shirt and was relieved to see the site of the injury wasn't any more swollen than it had been.

"Okay, I think you're all right," Sam said, relief clear in his voice as he gently rolled Dean onto his back, and his older brother revealed his tearstained face reluctantly. His look of frustration and defeat hit Sam so hard he felt his own eyes prick with tears, but he had to be the strong one now.

"Alright, I'm going to get you back into bed," Sam told him, and started sliding his arms under Dean's body. "Put your arms around my neck." He didn't think this was the best way to move Dean, but he didn't really have a choice. Dean resignedly wrapped his arms around his brother's neck and Sam lifted him as smoothly as possible onto the bed, unable to help a grunt.

"Are you good?" he asked, looking his brother over again.

"Think so."

"Please don't do that again, Dean," Sam pleaded gently. "I don't care if you need help, I'm not going to think any less of you. Just please don't be stupid about it and get yourself hurt worse."

"Sorry," Dean whispered.

Sam sighed and ran his hand through Dean's hair in a calming motion his older brother had always done for him when he was sick or hurt. "It's okay. I'm sorry too, bro. I shouldn't have said what I did."

"I'll try harder," Dean told him. "But only because I've got to take care of my pain in the ass little brother."

Sam smiled and gave a sharp laugh. "Okay, whatever motivates you. How about let's start with dinner?"

To Be Continued….

Please take the time to review. Thanks so much!


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural. Neither of us are doctors, so please excuse any medical inaccuracies.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 5

Sam was pleased to see that Dean ate most of his soup before pushing the bowl back on the tray over his lap with a sigh. "How about dessert?" he asked his older brother with a grin.

Dean shook his head. "I'm full."

"Too full for a piece of pie?" Sam asked. "They had cherry."

Dean considered the question for a moment. "Not hungry," he finally decided. "Told you I was full."

Sam nodded and managed to contain his deep sigh until he got to the kitchen. Ignoring his brother's words, Sam sliced a large piece of pie for Dean and another one for himself. He grabbed forks and the plates and headed back to the bedroom.

Dean's eyes widened at the size of the slice of cherry pie Sam placed before him. "Dude, I don't want any. What part of 'I'm full' didn't you understand?" He felt anger begin to build in his gut. He had no control over his body and apparently over his choices either.

"Thought we could watch a movie while we eat our pie," Sam told him. "I can bring the laptop in here."

Deciding it would help pass the time, Dean agreed reluctantly. Bitterness settled deep into his soul as he decided that watching a movie was about the only thing he could do. "But I'm not eating any pie." He nearly winced at how petulant he sounded.

Sam ignored him and went into the other room to get the laptop. "What do you want to watch?" Sam asked as he returned and settled back against the headboard next to his brother. "Old monster movie?"

Dean nodded. "Might as well; can't do anything else to make myself useful."

Sam bit back the reply he wanted to make and instead busied himself with pulling up a movie on his laptop. As he settled back and began to eat his pie, his mood darkened as he noticed his brother did not touch the piece of cherry pie on his plate.

Forcing himself to keep his eyes on the laptop screen, Sam finished his pie and put his plate to the side. Only then did he glance back over at his brother. Dean had fallen asleep against his pillows, his pie untouched on the bedside table.

Sam yawned and turned off the movie, deciding that they could finish it once Dean woke up and felt a little better. He took their dishes into the kitchen and wrapped up Dean's untouched slice of pie before placing it in the refrigerator. He settled down at the table to check out some of his favorite websites while he waited for his brother to wake up.

Dean shifted in the bed as well as he could and tried to get comfortable; he wasn't sure how long he'd slept, but he didn't think it had been long. Something, whether it was the sheet or the pillow he could not tell, was digging into his back. Using his hands, he attempted to rearrange his upper body. He rubbed his eyes and looked around the small bedroom. Sam was gone as was the laptop. Suddenly, Dean had the vague feeling that he needed to use the bathroom. With a groan, he eyed the plastic urinal that was lying across the room. There was no way he could get it on his own. "Sam!"

"Coming!" his brother called from the other room.

"Sam!" Dean bellowed once again, only just realizing how urgently he needed to go to the bathroom.

Sam scurried down the hall at the tone he heard in his brother's voice. "Dean, are you all right?"

Dean couldn't answer. Instead, he watched in horror as a puddle formed beneath him on the bed. He knew his legs must be wet, but he couldn't feel the dampness. Anger and shame flooded over him. His face felt hot and he couldn't reach up to meet his brother's concerned gaze.

Sam's eyes widened as he noticed a red-faced Dean glaring down at his lap. He stepped into the room and it wasn't until he got closer to his brother's bed that the smell of urine reached his nostrils. He instinctively knew what had happened. A quick glance at his brother's face showed that Dean was self-concious and ashamed. Suddenly, Sam knew what to say. "I'm sorry, Dean. I should have stopped what I was doing and come right away. This was my fault. Let me find you something clean to wear."

Without stopping to gage Dean's reaction, Sam pulled out two pairs of Dean's favorite lounge pants and held them up. "Which ones?" he asked.

Dean nodded slightly toward a faded blue pair. Sam tossed them onto the bed until he produced a clean white t-shirt just in case his brother's shirt had soaked up some of the urine. "How about a shower?" he asked his older brother.

"Doesn't matter, Sam. Please, just take them to the rehab facility and let me rot. I'm supposed to be the one taking care of you." Dean refused to look his brother in the eye.

"What are you talking about?" Sam argued. "Just because I'm younger doesn't mean that I can't take care of you. Everyone needs help at some point, Dean."

"I want to die, Sam!" Dean yelled back at him suddenly. "I don't WANT you to have to take care of me. I WANT to take care of myself and watch my little brother's back."

"Hey, you will," Sam reassured him. "It's just going to take time. We'll get you there." He squeezed his brother's shoulder and felt the tension in the bunched muscles. "How about a quick shower?" Worry unfurled in his gut as Dean slumped dejectedly on the bed. Sam felt frustration begin to build inside of him as he did most of the lifting and maneuvering to get his brother into the wheelchair and then into the tub.

"You can't give up on yourself, Dean," he finally spat heatedly as he plucked a wash rag off of the towel rack.

"What's the point?" the elder Winchester asked bitterly. "Dad's gone all because of me and I won't have you giving your life up for me, too. This is your chance to have a normal life, Sam. I refuse to hold you back. Go back to school; get married; have a family. That's what you deserve, not looking after an invalid like me."

"Stop it!" Sam shouted, his voice reverberating around the small, tiled room. "I'm not going to listen to you talk like that anymore. I'm not leaving you. We're going to get through this."

Dean clamped his mouth shut as Sam shoved the wash cloth into his hand. "Here, wash what you can by yourself and then I'll help you with the rest. You're only an invalid if you make yourself into one."

Dean growled at his brother before washing his upper body with quick, jerky movements. Sam helped his brother finish up with his bath. Then he dried him off, got him out of the tub, dressed, and put fresh sheets on the bed before he settled Dean back against the pillows.

"Call me if you need anything," Sam told his brother quietly. "I'm going to take a shower." Dean remained stoic and silent, so Sam gathered his things from his small bedroom across the hall and headed into the bathroom, shutting the door behind him.

He dropped his things onto the counter and turned on the shower full blast. Shucking his clothes and tossing them into the floor, Sam stepped into the shower and turned his face into the spray. All of the worries he'd been holding in all day finally released themselves in gut-wrenching sobs. Sam crammed his fist into his mouth so that his brother wouldn't hear him crying.

He cried for Dean and the anger and shame his brother felt. He cried because he knew that being unable to search for the thing that had killed their mother would be his brother's undoing. He sobbed for himself because he was so tired and had no real idea how to help Dean heal, not only physically, but also emotionally.

When the water ran cold, Sam turned off the shower and toweled himself dry before dressing in his sweats and exiting the bathroom. He poked his head into his big brother's room. "You need anything before I go to bed?" he asked after clearing his throat.

"No, Sam, I'm fine," Dean replied flatly.

Sam nodded. "I'll leave my door open. Call me if you need anything."

Dean watched his brother go, regret and shame spiraling through him. He'd heard the muffled sobs through the thin walls even though Sam had tried to hide them. It was his fault his brother was hurting, and Dean would never be able to forgive himself for that. He stared at the ceiling most of the night, as anger, remorse, and shame swirled through him.

When Sam knocked on his bedroom door the next morning, Dean stared at him with bleary eyes. "Rise and shine," the youngest Winchester grinned.

"Bite me," Dean growled as he rubbed a hand over his eyes. They felt scratchy and dry.

Sam tossed a pair of jeans on the bed. "What shirt do you want to wear?"

"Don't care," Dean replied with a tired yawn.

"You should. The physical therapist might be hot," Sam grinned as he tossed a gray t-shirt at his brother.

"Doesn't matter. She wouldn't want a cripple like me," Dean spat.

Sam didn't want to start an argument on his brother's first day of therapy. "Get your shirt on. I'll be back to help you with your pants." He crossed the hall to his own room and changed from his sleep pants into jeans and a green shirt.

When he returned to his brother's room a few minutes later, he was relieved to see that Dean had changed his shirt and had the jeans lying next to him on the bed. "We'd better get a move on. Don't want to be late."

Dean gave a derisive snort, but allowed Sam to help him into the jeans and then into the wheelchair. They ate a quick breakfast and then headed out to the parking lot to get Dean and his wheelchair into the Impala.

The physical therapist was waiting for them when they arrived at the rehab center. She was a perky strawberry blonde that was probably around Dean's age. Vivid blue eyes and a bright smile greeted Sam as he introduced himself to her. "I'm Sam Winchester and this is my brother Dean," he said when it became obvious that his brother wasn't going to speak.

"I'm Joanna," she replied as she reached out to shake Dean's hand. "I'm looking forward to working with you, Mr. Winchester. Hopefully, we can help you regain the use of your legs."

"I doubt it," Dean replied sharply. "Nothing good ever happens to a Winchester."

To her credit, Joanna kept her smile in place. "I've seen a lot of good things happen here, Mr. Winchester. I'm not giving up on you." She looked at Sam. "I understand that you are caring for your brother at home." When Sam nodded, she continued. "You're welcome to join us for a bit. I can go over some strategies the two of you can use to make life easier."

"Thanks," Sam smiled gratefully.

Dean was exhausted by the end of the morning, but Joanna seemed pleased with what he had accomplished. "You were in very good shape to begin with, Dean," she smiled, having stopped with the "Mr. Winchesters" at Sam's insistence. "Our goal is to keep your leg muscles strong and build on your upper body strength."

Dean sagged limply back in the wheelchair as exhaustion flooded him. His arms trembled after the workout he'd given them.

"Thank you so much, Joanna," Sam smiled at her as he gripped the handles of his brother's wheelchair. "We'll see you tomorrow."

"Oh, and Sam, you might want to think about getting some diapers. It would make things easier on-"

"NO!" Dean blurted, his cheeks flushing red with shame.

Sam shook his head. "No, Joanna, we'll manage."

"But they will save time and lifting," she protested.

"My brother doesn't want to wear them, so he won't," Sam told her. "I can help him; we're doing fine."

She frowned. "Let me know if you change your mind; I can show you some changing techniques."

"I'm not a freakin' baby," Dean growled at her. "I want to go home, Sam."

"See you tomorrow, Joanna," Sam told the therapist as he held back a tired sigh and pushed his brother out to the car.

Dean was silent on the trip home. Sam pulled into a drive-thru, but his brother had fallen asleep with his head leaning against the passenger window. Sam ordered a bacon cheeseburger and fries for Dean and a salad for himself before he headed back to their small apartment.

Dean moaned in his sleep as Sam pulled into a parking spot at the apartment complex. Sam looked over at him in concern and frowned as his brother's face tightened as if in pain. "Dean?" he queried, "Are you okay?"

When his brother moaned once again, Sam placed a hand gently on his brother's forearm and squeezed. "Dean."

The older Winchester woke with a start. "Sammy?" he asked, grimacing as he began to rub his upper arm. He allowed a curse to slip through his lips as he kneaded the tightening muscles.

"What's wrong?" Sam asked, his eyes narrowing as he watched Dean continue to rub his arm.

"Cramp," Dean ground out through clenched teeth.

"Sorry, dude," Sam sympathized. "I got lunch." He held up the bag of take-out.

By the time Sam had wheeled Dean into their apartment and situated the wheelchair at the table, his brother was moaning and rubbing the other arm.

"Another cramp?" he asked Dean.

"Yeah," Dean groaned miserably as he massaged his arm.

"Try to eat a bit and then take a nap. Maybe that will help your muscles relax," Sam encouraged.

Dean managed to eat about half of his burger before dropping it back onto the wrapper and rubbing his shoulder. His stomach swirled angrily as his muscles clenched in pain.

Sam placed his salad fork on the table and moved to stand behind his brother. Reaching out, he began to massage the knotted muscles of his brother's shoulders. He cursed when he felt the knots, knowing his brother had to be in agony.

Dean snarled in pain and let his head lull forward as Sam's long fingers worked into the knots that twisted his muscles. The spasms continued in his shoulders and spread down his arms. The oldest Winchester felt tears prick his eyelids, but he blinked them back with stubborn pride.

"Dean, I'm going to get you to bed and then give you the muscle relaxers the doctor gave you," Sam soothed his brother.

Dean was unable to answer. All he could do was moan and nod in agreement.

Sam removed his hands from his brother's shoulders and Dean gritted his teeth at the loss.

As soon as Dean was settled on the bed, Sam found the pills and went into the kitchen to get a glass of water. Returning to the bedroom, he placed the pills in his brother's hand and gave him the water. Dean took them without complaint and plunked the glass down on the bedside table afterwards.

Quickly, before the pills took effect, Sam helped his brother into sweats and a t-shirt. He handed him the urinal and let him take care of business. All the while, Dean's teeth remained clenched and if he could have, Sam was pretty sure his brother would have curled in on himself.

"Close your eyes," he instructed Dean after taking care of the contents of the urinal. When Dean did so, Sam began to massage his brother's knotted muscles in his arms.

"Sam," Dean groaned as sweat appeared on his brow.

"Should I stop?" Sam asked in concern. "Am I hurting you too much?"

"NO," Dean growled. "Keep going. Hurts worse than being clawed by a black dog."

"I was thinking," Sam began quietly as he worked at his brother's muscles, "maybe we should call Bobby."

"What?" NO!" Dean stated emphatically, groaning as his shoulder muscles tightened with the effort.

Sam moved up Dean's arm to his brother's shoulder and continued speaking. "Why not? He could help us out, Dean; he could help ME out."

"No, I don't want you to call Bobby. I don't want him to see me like this," Dean told him flatly.

The younger Winchester bit back a sigh. "But Dean-"

"No, Sam," Dean replied firmly as his mouth twisted in pain.

Knowing it was useless to argue further, Sam rubbed and kneaded until his hands ached. Finally, the lines on Dean's face smoothed out and his muscles relaxed enough for him to drift into slumber. Exhausted himself, Sam sank down on the side of the bed and buried his head in his hands. He couldn't do this. It was so hard to watch his brother suffer and not be able to fix things. He blinked back tears and adjusted the blankets over Dean's shoulders before heading into the kitchen to clean up the remains of their lunch.

The next three days were the same. Dean got up early and Sam took him to therapy. Afterwards, his muscles knotted and spasmed painfully until he took a muscle relaxer and went to bed. Dean was frustrated and despondent. He barely spoke and Sam had difficulty getting him to do his leg exercises.

It was all Sam could do to hold his tongue when he was around his brother. He wanted to rail at him and scream that he could at least try to help himself. Instead, he helped Dean in stilted silence, unsure of what to say to ease his brother's pain and motivate him to try.

On Friday morning, Dean was the surliest yet. The first thing Dean announced when Sam entered the room was, "I'm not going to therapy. It's not helping me, so what's the point."

Sam tugged jeans and a t-shirt out of the dresser drawer and turned toward Dean as he braced himself for the argument that was to come. "Of course it's helping you," he replied. "You're mostly able to lift yourself into the wheelchair now. That's progress."

"It's not helping me heal, Sam. Nothing's going to do that. I can't feel my legs! I'm a cripple! I'm useless! Therapy can't change that." Dean's cheeks were red with anger as he picked up the remote to the television Sam had purchased two days ago and flung it against the wall. The remote split in two and fell onto the worn carpet.

Sam's lips hardened into a grim line and he planted his hands on his hips. "With that attitude, you'll never get better!" he snapped. "Now are you going to change your shirt and let me help you with your pants or are you going to therapy and let Joanna see you in your pajamas?"

Dean let loose with a string of curses that would make a sailor blush. Sam didn't back down, and finally Dean was dressed for the day although they would now probably be late for their appointment.

Sam pushed the wheelchair close to the bed and helped Dean into position so he could move himself into it. When his brother continued to be stubborn, Sam helped lift him into the chair. "Stop fighting me, Dean," he growled. "I'm only trying to help you."

"I don't need your help," Dean snarled back as his body slid harder than intended into the chair and his leg banged into the foot rest. "Ow!" he explained. "Geeze, Sammy!"

His younger brother's eyes widened. "You felt that?"

Dean swallowed hard and looked down at his legs. He had felt it. Were the Winchesters finally going to have good luck for a change?

To Be Continued…


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to us. We are not doctors, so please excuse any medical mistakes we may have made.

* This chapter written by LadyWallace.

Not Right Now

Chapter Six

Dean poked his thigh experimentally as he sat in bed. Yes, it was true, he could feel something. It kind of felt like when his leg fell asleep, but it was still definitely something, and he could sort of twitch his toes as well if he concentrated hard enough. This was good. He had to admit it. Maybe he was even starting to feel a little better about the whole situation, but he wasn't stupid enough to pin all his hopes on a little bit of feeling in his legs either. Not quite yet. Besides, Sam was hopeful enough for both of them; the sight of that kid grinning for the first time in days was enough to make him feel a little better at least. If only he could keep Sammy from worrying about him he would be fine even if he were dying. That's why he didn't want Bobby to find out. He couldn't handle any more pity from anyone. It hurt even worse to know that Bobby would be more sympathetic than his own father. He missed his dad, but he was almost glad he was dead. Better dead than seeing how useless his eldest son was.

Even the therapist Joanna had congratulated him that day at therapy but he didn't really care what she thought. Sure, she might have been cute, but she continuously tortured him with new exercises and he still hadn't forgiven her for the diaper thing. Nope. And now she had given him and Sam more new exercises now that he was starting to get feeling back.

The main reason he wasn't excited about this, was that he didn't know how much farther it would go. Maybe he would walk again, sure, but how well? He didn't care if he could just totter around, he needed to know if he would be able to run and fight again. Because if he couldn't be out there watching Sammy's back then he was still no good, even if his legs did work. He wasn't a civilian and he never would be. With the demon that killed their mother, and now their dad too, still out there, he couldn't afford to clock out quite yet. There was no way, he was going to let Sam do it alone. If anything happened to the kid because Dean wasn't there to watch his back he would never forgive himself.

He lay back against the pillows and closed his eyes, just thinking of all the things he would be forced to do in the coming weeks. Joanna had made it sound exciting, but all he heard was more pain for him. Sammy was out shopping at the moment, and he wanted him to come back, even if he didn't feel like talking at the moment. He didn't like being alone, and he didn't like Sammy being alone, and he wondered if maybe he should call Bobby to look after Sam if nothing else; even if he couldn't stand another person fussing over him or feeling sorry for his predicament.

The front door closed and Dean felt a bit relieved to hear the bags and keys settle onto the table in the kitchen. "I'm back, Dean," Sam called.

A few minutes later, Sam came to his room and sat at the foot of his bed. "You hungry? I got a frozen pizza."

Dean shrugged, knowing Sam would feed him anyway, no matter what he said. "Whatever."

Sam frowned slightly. "Hey, you should be happy. It's been about a week and you're starting to get feeling back just like the doctor said. That's a good thing, Dean. That means you have a better chance of healing fully."

Dean snorted, sounding more derisive than he had planned. "It's always a 'better chance' isn't it? I'm not gonna listen to anything until someone tells me I have a guarantee of getting back on my feet. I just want people to stop lying to me."

"No one's lying to you, Dean," Sam sighed, sounding so tired, that Dean almost felt bad, but wasn't about to take his words back either. It was how he really felt, how could he help that? "It's just that no one really knows how these sorts of injuries will turn out. It's worse for some people and sometimes doctors can't always tell how bad an injury is so they never straight out tell people that they'll have a full recovery. It's just sort of like a disclaimer, but that doesn't mean you won't, and I believe you will."

"Why, because we've had such a run of good luck so far?" Dean spat. Sam opened his mouth, but Dean shook his head. "Dad's dead, Sam. Because of me. I was supposed to die, not him. Maybe this is fate taking me out of the game in another way, have you ever thought of that?"

"Dean, stop," Sam said quietly, closing his eyes.

"I wasn't meant to survive, Sam, what part of that do you not seem to understand?" Dean demanded, raising his voice. "If you were smart, you would stop trying to fix me, because I'm already a lost cause."

"Why do you keep saying that, Dean?" Sam cried. "Come on, man, this was supposed to be a celebration. Well, you know what, if you have that kind of attitude, you'll never get better. Can you please just try. For me?"

Dean watched Sam for a long moment, trying to contain his anger. "Fine," he finally said.

"Thank you," Sam grunted, pushing off the bed angrily. "I'm making food, and you're going to eat it." He slammed the door on the way out.

Dean slumped back onto the bed, instantly feeling bad for the fight. He knew Sam didn't deserve it, he was just so angry. He had never even considered a scenario where he would lose the use of his legs. He had thought of his death many, many times: getting ganked by an angry ghost or demon, torn apart by black dogs, or the worst case scenario, having to be shot after getting turned into a werewolf or a vamp. But that was all part of the job, and it might have sucked, but it would have happened anyway and he wouldn't be able to do anything about it, and hopefully, it would be quick. The prospect of never being able to walk again, was like living death and it was worse than anything he had ever imagined. Because when it came down to it, it wasn't death he feared at all. It was failing the people he loved most when they needed it. It was being useless.

Sam made lunch and he did eat, or tried to as much as he could these days. For some reason he just couldn't force himself to have an appetite, even though it went straight to his heart whenever he saw Sam's disappointed and worried look at his half-finished food. Sam was the only reason he was even bothering to do this at all, because the stupid kid had decided to stay with him for some unknown, stupid reason, and all Dean seemed able to do was shout at him. It wasn't fair, he knew that. He just didn't know the words to say to make it better.

Sam sighed as he gathered Dean's half finished piece of pizza and threw the dishes into the sink before he came back. "Let's do some of your exercises, Dean," Sam told him, not meeting his eyes.

Dean wanted to protest, but this was the least he could do. "Alright."

If Sam seemed surprised by his sudden acquiescence, he didn't say anything. He just helped Dean to lie down flat in bed and started to exercise his legs for him. It was almost strange for Dean to be able to feel his brother's hands again, even if it felt sort of ghostly. It even tickled slightly when Sam's hand brushed against his toes, but it still meant nothing to him. Because he knew if he tried to stand he would be flat on his face.

Sam finished with him and handed him the remote to the TV. "Is there anything I can get you?" he asked.

Dean shook his head, and Sam made to leave when the elder Winchester took a deep breath and called him back. "Sammy."

Sam stopped, his shoulders straightening and his feet shifting slightly in a way that Dean knew he did when he was uncomfortable. But Sam turned around to face his brother again. "What, Dean?"

"I'm sorry," Dean told him quietly. "I'm sorry for what I said earlier. I'm just not sure how I feel about anything right now. This was just too much too soon, and I need some time to get used to everything that happened. I just want you to know that I'm sorry if I yell, but I promise I'm not angry at you, Sam. You know I hate being cooped up and everything else and I can hardly get to the bathroom or take a shower by myself. And I know I'm stubborn and annoying and you probably want to smother me with a pillow, and I don't blame you, but I really do appreciate you taking care of me, Sammy. Because I know no one else would have lasted as long as you did without killing me in my sleep."

Sam huffed a reluctant laugh, his smile just barely showing off his dimples. It was a start, and it made Dean feel a world better. "No, they wouldn't."

Dean offered half a smile back. "We good?"

Sam sighed and came to sit down on the end of Dean's bed. "We weren't bad before, Dean. I just…" he stopped, swallowed hard and clenched his hands in his lap. "I can't stand hearing you talk like you don't want to live anymore. It's selfish, you know. You think it's not, you think that by leaving me I will be able to go off and live a normal life, but I think we both know that's not going to happen. Not now. I've got this psychic thing, and Jess is dead, and if you left me now, I wouldn't have anyone and I'd end of having to do everything alone, and I don't want to. Not anymore. I want my brother. And I don't care if you're able to hunt, or if you have to sit in a wheelchair and research for the rest of your life, you're the one who dragged me back into this, you jerk, don't think you can get out of it that easy."

Dean's throat tightened throughout Sam's speech and he swallowed hard as he saw his brother turn away and swipe at his cheek, trying to hide the tear that had slipped out.

"Sammy," was all Dean was able to say as he reached out and grabbed Sam's shirt, tugging him against him and was rewarded to feel Sam slump against his shoulder, his head dipping under Dean's chin.

"I thought you said no chick flick moments, jerk," Sam said with a wet chuckle.

"Bite me, bitch," Dean mumbled before he released his brother again. "Fine. You win. If you really want me around, I guess I'll do what I can to make this work. But I sure as hell ain't staying in a wheelchair and doing research for the rest of my life."

"I knew that would turn you around," Sam smirked. "I guess you'll just have to work harder then."

Dean gave him a longsuffering look but decided that if he could do it for his brother, it might not be as bad as he thought. At least he would have something to work towards then.

The next few days, Joanna stepped up Dean's therapy sessions to new levels that only made him hurt worse. Now that he was starting to be able to feel his legs and move them slightly, she stressed the fact that he needed to get them used to walking again.

"It's important to do as much as you can as soon as possible so your muscles don't forget how to work," she told him while he practiced attempting to stand while bracing himself with his hands. "A few more days and I'll start you on the crutches."

"You're doing really well, Dean," Sam told him sincerely as they drove home, even if he knew his brother would snarl at him from the praise.

"Oh, come on, Sammy, I suck," Dean grunted. "My legs are like wet spaghetti. I might be able to wiggle my toes, big whoop. I'd still end up dragging myself across the floor."

"You just need more time. More and more feeling will come back, you just have to be patient," Sam assured him.

Dean sighed and turned to look out the window. Sam drove in silence and made his way to the store where they needed to pick up a few things.

"I don't want to go in," Dean told him as Sam grabbed his wheelchair from the trunk.

"Come on, Dean, come pick out food you want. You always complain about what I get."

Dean shook his head. "I'm tired."

Sam put his foot down, knowing Dean only didn't want to go because he didn't like people looking at him while he was in the wheelchair. "Dude, seriously. Just come in and help me pick out stuff. I can get you one of the automatic wheelchairs if you would rather, then you can roll around the store like an old lady."

Dean glared at him but finally nodded. "Fine."

Sam helped him into the chair and pushed him into the store. Dean hung his head as if he didn't want to be seen and Sam sighed, refraining the urge to roll his eyes. He just hoped that maybe Dean would find something he wanted to eat.

"How about cereal, what do you want?" Sam asked.

"I don't care."

"Dean, come on," Sam pleaded, grabbing a box of frosted flakes and throwing them into the basket Dean held in his lap. At least he knew his brother liked that.

After a few reluctant answers from Dean to Sam's coaxing, they finished their shopping and went to check out. While Sam was paying, Dean caught sight of two teenagers staring at him and he glared at them in no uncertain terms.

"What are you staring at?" he growled and they hurried away.

Sam frowned as he got his change and dumped the bags harder than necessary into Dean's lap. "Stop scaring the kids, Dean; you're like a grumpy old man."

"They don't have to stare at me like I'm some sort of freak," Dean gritted out. "Why can't people be invalids without being a spectacle for everyone's amusement?"

"I don't know," Sam said softly, pushing Dean toward the door. "Let's go home and have some lunch.

They were halfway across the parking lot when Dean suddenly felt a bad pain in his right leg. It shocked him so much, he cried out and one of the bags fell off his lap. Sam stopped instantly and hurried around to see what was wrong.

"Dean, are you alright?"

"Cramp," Dean panted, gritting his teeth as another cramp assaulted his muscles.

Sam grabbed the bags, squeezing his brother's shoulder reassuringly as he hurried toward the Impala. "Hold on. It's probably because of all the exercises Joanna had you do today."

"She's mean, Sammy," Dean grunted as he grasped his thigh, trying to work out the muscles knotting. "I don't like her."

"Stop being so melodramatic," Sam told him as he unlocked the car, and, practically hoisted Dean into the passenger seat. He put the wheelchair and groceries away and hurried to the driver's side, sitting next to his brother who was in so much pain that sweat was beading on his forehead, huddled against the door as another wave of pain assailed him. "You be okay until we get back?" Sam asked gently as he put the car in gear and hurried toward the apartment, glad it wasn't far.

Dean grunted in response. The cramps were lessening by the time they got back, but as soon as they got into the door of the apartment, another one hit Dean and he nearly fell out of his wheelchair in attempt to grab at his calf. Sam opted to get him onto the couch instead since it was closer and with some effort, helped Dean to lay out with his legs over Sam's knees as the younger Winchester worked on massaging the muscles and stretching them slightly to ease the tension before he gave Dean some more of the muscle relaxer that he hadn't had to use for a while. When the pain finally subsided, Dean lay back with his arm over his eyes, breathing heavily. Sam patted his knee reassuringly before he stood up to make them some lunch.

Dean ate about as much as he usually did lately, but Sam didn't comment. He could imagine how hard it was, and he already knew that Dean was depressed. It wasn't something that had started with his injury, but it certainly ended there. Sam was running out of ideas for what to do for him emotionally. Dean was suffering, simple as that, and though he tried to hide it in some stupid attempt to be strong for his little brother, Sam knew him too well. He just wished Dean would let him take care of him at least. Then he wouldn't have to feel like he had a burden on his shoulders when he should just be concentrating on getting better. But what was he talking about? This was Dean Winchester, one of the most stubborn men in the universe. He just knew he couldn't bring up the depression to Dean. That would make him flip more than he already had and deny everything and that would just make it worse.

A few more rigorous days in therapy, and Dean was given a pair of crutches to practice getting around with. Sam thought this would be a good thing, that Dean would feel more independent if he was able to get up and walk around more easily, instead of having to rely on the wheelchair and Sam's help so much. And they had both had to use crutches before due to various injuries, so he hoped it wouldn't be a total blow to Dean's dignity. But it seemed that it was a lot more difficult to use crutches when you didn't have the use of either of your legs and could barely stand on them at all.

Joanna practiced a little bit with Dean first, the session resulting in him spitting out some very unsavory things, as he ended up slipping and tripping time and again, his legs usually collapsing as he tried to swing the crutches forward to get to the next step.

Sam eventually suggested quietly, as Dean got surlier and surlier that they practice more at home to which Joanna agreed might be best.

"I'm not using those things, Sam, they'll kill me," Dean informed him firmly as he lay on the couch after lunch, glaring at the crutches that Sam held out for him.

"Just try, Dean. Just fifteen minutes practice. Do I have to bribe you with ice cream or something?"

Dean offered him a rude gesture which made Sam huff in annoyance. He was trying not to admit it to himself, but he was really getting on his last nerve with his brother. Dean was so obstinate, and he could never do anything without complaining. Sam was honestly embarrassed with his attitude and conduct when they went to therapy; he was acting like a child, so if Sam wanted to treat him like a child, he was going to do it. It was all Dean deserved, and maybe it would make him see sense.

"Dean, fifteen minutes, that's it," he said firmly, holding out the crutches.

"Sam," Dean said warningly, angry at the tone his little brother was taking.

"Take the crutches," Sam pressed them into his hands.

"You know what you can do with these crutches," Dean threatened but took them, seeming to decide the argument wasn't going to go anywhere. Dean knew his little brother too well, and he knew Sam would only get huffy and that would just annoy Dean more so he allowed Sam to help him stand and swayed precariously on the crutches as his brother stepped back.

"Okay, now do what Joanna was showing you earlier," Sam coaxed.

Dean bit the inside of his cheek in anger and frustration and tried balancing on his feet long enough to ease the crutches forward. He managed a few inches before he felt himself falling and slammed the crutches into the ground, stabilizing himself better.

"You're doing good," Sam encouraged him.

"Bite me," Dean growled and took another step.

The third time he did, his right leg collapsed and he crumpled to the floor. Sam anticipated the fall and softened it, helping him back up.

"Good, just try again," he said softly.

Dean gave him a death glare and snatched at the crutches. He tried three more times and fell, bruising his body as well as his ego, but every time, Sam helped him back up, making him go again, and every time he only got more frustrated and more angry until he overstepped with the crutch and went down hard, jolting his body painfully so that he cried out.

"Dean, you good?" Sam asked as he came over to crouch by his brother, worriedly.

Dean looked up at him with a split lip and a bruised cheek. Sam winced as he reached to help his brother up, but Dean slapped his hands away.

"Stop, I can do it myself!" he shouted, levering himself up with his arms. They were shaking from exhaustion and adrenaline that had pumped through him from the jolt of falling and he just collapsed back onto the floor, one hand slipping on a crutch.

"Dean," Sam said in a pained voice, and Dean snapped, whipping his head around to glare at his brother.

"Stop, just stop. I'm not doing this anymore. I'm done. This is too much and I can't do it. I told you I was worthless, Sammy, are you finally able to see it?" His voice rose as he continued. Sam fell into a crouch and gathered the crutches up, propping them against the couch before picking his brother off the floor. Dean struggled as Sam practically carried him back to the couch and settled him down, putting the crutches firmly into his lap again.

"Dean, you will never get this if you don't try. You're gonna fall, that's the way it is, but that doesn't mean you can give up."

"Screw you!" Dean shouted, wiping his bleeding lip on his sleeve. "I'm done. You like them so much, you try it!"

Sam wasn't ready for the crutch to come flying at him. It wasn't really directed at him, but it hit his shoulder hard enough to bruise and it made him step back, hurt and angry, so that he snapped too.

"Fine, you want to act like a child, I'm done too. I'm not gonna take crap like this from you anymore, Dean." Sam slammed the crutch down on the coffee table. "You do what you want, I don't care anymore. If you don't want me to help you, I guess I don't have to feel obligated to try. So you can help yourself or not, not my problem!"

"I never said it was!" Dean shouted back. "You're the one who made it your problem, Sam, not me. I told you to leave me and you were too damn stubborn so this in on you."

"Whatever, Dean, I just thought I could help you, but boy was I wrong. You can't help anyone if they don't want to live. I'm not going to make that mistake again."

Before he could see Dean's reaction to his last outburst, he spun around and ran out the door, slamming it behind him. He took the stairs down, needing to run off steam and went to the Impala, slamming the door in a way Dean would skin him for and settling into the seat, breathing heavily as he tried to calm his emotions.

He already felt awful for what he had said. Why had he said that? Why couldn't he contain his anger? He just couldn't do this anymore. He thought he could, but maybe he wasn't strong enough after all. He just felt so alone, and he wanted his dad more than ever, and that had not been a normal reaction…ever. He just needed someone he could lean on because he was falling apart and he wasn't going to do Dean any good if that happened. Dean was his rock, and without him as support, Sam was crashing under the pressure and he wondered how long it would be before he broke even more than he already had.

A sob ripped from his chest that he was unable to contain any longer and he lay down on the bench seat, curling up and hugging his arms around his chest as the sobs were torn from him, all his pent up emotions of the past couple weeks bubbling up and threatening to choke him if he didn't let them out.

Finally, after what seemed hours, the sobs subsided and he was able to think clearly again. He sat up, rubbing his eyes and reached into his pocket, shakily dialing a familiar number and waiting anxiously as it rang, swallowing hard.

Finally a voice came on the other end. "Hello?"

"Hey, Bobby," Sam said shakily, rubbing more tears from his cheeks. "It's Sam. I-I need your help…"

To Be Continued…


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural, but we sure do love Sam and Dean.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 7

Sam winced as a loud crash sounded on the other end of the phone. "You okay, Bobby?" he asked, his voice rough from his tears.

"Yeah, just took care of a poltergeist. What's wrong, Sam?" The hunter could tell that something wasn't right; the Winchester boys were like sons to him and he had known them very well for years.

"It's Dean," Sam managed, clearing his throat as it threatened to clog with emotion once again.

"What kind of mess has that fool brother of yours gotten himself into this time?" Bobby asked with gruff affection.

Sam swallowed hard. "Bobby, Dean hurt his back. He can't walk."

"How permanent are we talking, Sam?" the older hunter asked, suddenly serious and concerned.

Sam could imagine the pained look on Bobby's face. "The doctor said that we won't know the extent of the damage until the swelling goes away. It's going to take a lot of physical therapy to get Dean back to one hundred percent even if there was no damage."

Bobby sighed. "I'm sure your brother isn't taking this very well." He frowned as he thought of the independent older Winchester brother who always liked to be in control of his life and the situation.

"That's an understatement," Sam admitted. "It's beginning to wear on me, too. Dean's just…..he's…..I think he's going to give up, Bobby."

Bobby heard the unspoken plea in the words. "Let me clean up here and then I'll head your way. Where are ya?"

After telling Bobby how to find them, Sam hung up the phone. He let out a slow, shaky breath and leaned his head back against the Impala's headrest. He knew he needed to go back inside the small apartment to check on his brother, but he didn't have the energy or the motivation. "Dean, why do you have to be so stubborn?" he growled under his breath as he flung the Impala's door open and stepped out, stretching muscles stiff from being scrunched up inside of the classic car.

In the apartment, Dean shifted uncomfortably and looked at the clock. Sam had been gone a long time. At first, Dean welcomed the break from Sam's smothering and fussing, but now he had to go to the bathroom. He knew he couldn't wait any longer.

Dean cast a look at the cell phone that rested on the bedside table and cringed at the idea of asking Sam for help. He didn't need his little brother babying him. Dean grasped his crutches and positioned himself on the side of the bed. Sweat was already beginning to bead on his forehead from the effort of maneuvering his heavy legs over the side of the mattress. His legs were refusing to obey his brain.

Biting his lower lip, Dean managed three clumsy steps across the floor. His arms quaked with the effort. With a curse of frustration, Dean's legs gave out completely and he tumbled onto the floor, his head crashing against the doorframe.

Blearily, Dean blinked and used a shaking hand to wipe the blood from his head out of his eyes. He groaned in horror as he felt a wet puddle of urine spreading beneath him and then he further soiled himself. Shame roiled through him, the force of it nearly suffocating. At that moment, Dean wanted to die. He didn't want to be beholden to anyone. He longed for some supernatural creature to come tear him limb from limb before Sam returned.

The sound of a key in the door made his heart stutter in his chest. Sam was back. Dean wiped more blood from his eyes and hardened his heart to face his brother. He couldn't stand the thought of Sam's sympathy.

Physical and emotional exhaustion tugged at Sam as he entered the apartment. He tossed the keys on the counter and mentally prepared himself to face his brother. As he neared the bedroom, the tang of urine, feces, and blood entered his nostrils. "Dean!" he cried as he surged forward and rounded the corner into the bedroom.

"Dean," he groaned, more softly this time as he hurried to his brother's side. "Where are you hurt?" His heart lurched at the sight of the blood that surrounded his brother.

Dean clamped his lips shut in stubborn pride.

Sam puffed a frustrated sigh through his lips. "Let me help you up. You should have called me." He worked hard to keep an accusing tone from his voice.

Dean's jaw tightened in anger, but he didn't answer.

Sam didn't expect him to. Instead, he helped him into the bathroom and settled him on the toilet. After making sure his brother was steady, he grabbed a washcloth and wet it at the faucet before using it to wipe away the blood that covered his brother's face. It took several swipes before Sam could clearly see the cut that paralleled his brother's hairline. "You need stitches, dude." Then he checked Dean's eyes. "But it looks like no concussion."

Dean didn't answer and Sam mentally counted to ten. "How about a quick shower first?" he asked.

When Dean still didn't respond, Sam took that for a yes. He worked to rid his brother of the soiled clothing and managed to keep from making a face at the smell. Dean shucked off his own shirt and Sam helped him step into the shower stall and get settled onto the special white plastic stool they'd bought.

Dean silently washed his upper body and most of his legs. Sam only had to help him a little bit these days. Once the water had been turned off, Sam toweled his brother dry and helped him out of the shower and to the bed. It wasn't long before Dean was dressed in fresh boxers and a soft t-shirt.

He collapsed back onto the pillows in exhaustion and winced as Sam probed the cut on his head.

"We need to take care of that, Dean," Sam sighed. "Let me get the first aid kit."

Dean closed his eyes and listened as his brother padded across the floor to the bathroom. He heard the cabinet door open and shut and then Sam's returning footsteps. The bed dipped as Sam sat down and once again cool fingers examined the cut on his head. Shame spiraled through Dean. This shouldn't be happening. It was his job to take care of Sam. His baby brother shouldn't have to be waiting on him hand and foot. Frustration welled up in him and he felt heat flare in his cheeks.

"It will only take a few stitches," Sam guessed with a practiced eye. "I'll be quick."

Dean felt the first prick of the needle in his skin and grunted, his fingers tightening on the sheets. He hated this. He was useless.

Sam worked quickly and efficiently and soon he tied off the last stitch. "There, all done." He sat back and surveyed his work. "Shouldn't even leave a scar for you to boast about to the ladies."

Dean's throat worked. What woman would want him now? He was useless and the sooner Sam realized that, the better. He felt his brother stand up from the bed and heard him retreat into the bathroom to put the first aid kit away. The water began to run as Sam washed his hands and cleaned up the mess they'd made in the bathroom.

The smell of the soiled floor made Dean want to gag. He flung his arm over his eyes and tried his best to block out the world around him.

He must have fallen asleep. When he woke up, the room smelled much better. Turning his head, he realized that the floor was now clean. A glass of water and some Tylenol sat on the bedside table next to him. Dean turned his head and regretted it when it the pounding began in his skull.

He hauled himself to a sitting position against his pillows with shaking arms and reached for the pill bottle. Dumping two of the white tablets into his hand, he popped them into his mouth and swallowed them down with greedy gulps of water before a noise in the doorway caught his attention.

"Good, you're awake." Sam attempted a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I warmed up some soup and made a grilled cheese sandwich for you. Do you want to come to the table?"

Dean grunted and crossed his arms over his chest.

"Well, I thought maybe your head might be hurting too bad for the walk. I'll be right back with a tray."

Dean stared at his brother's retreating back as regret laced his thoughts. One stupid, rookie move and his entire life had been reduced to his baby brother waiting on him hand and foot. When Sam returned with the tray, Dean finally found his voice. "Just leave, Sam."

The younger Winchester's brow furrowed. "No. Now, EAT THE FOOD." He slammed the tray on the bed over his brother's lap and left the room quickly before he could say something he didn't mean.

Dean bit back an angry retort and fought the urge to slap the bowl of soup across the room like an angry child. Instead, he leaned his head back against the pillows and closed his eyes. His head pounded too badly to even think of eating, and he was pretty sure his stomach would rebel if he tried.

He must have dozed off once again. When he woke up the tray was gone and another glass of water sat beside his bed. A glance at the clock on the nightstand told him it was nearing midnight. He'd slept most of the day away. Voices in the other room made him frown. Sam was talking to someone; the voices weren't on the television. Bobby…it was Bobby's voice.

Before Dean could process that thought, Sam's head peeked in the doorway. "Hey, Dean, you've got company."

Bobby Singer stepped around the younger Winchester and into the room, a frown marring his face at the sight of how pale Dean looked as he rested against the pillows. "Balls, Dean! You look awful!"

Dean scowled. "Had to run and tattle, didn't you, Sammy? Just couldn't stand it. You needed to tell someone about my stupid, rookie, mistake! I told you not to call Bobby!"

"Look, Dean," Sam began as he brushed his hair back from his face.

"Sam, give me some time alone with your brother," Bobby tossed over his shoulder at the younger Winchester. "Go get some groceries or something."

"It's the middle of the night," Sam replied hesitantly as he glanced back and forth between his brother and Bobby.

"Tarnation, Sam, just get out of here, will ya?" Bobby snapped.

Sam clamped his lips shut and nodded. "I'll get some spaghetti sauce for tomorrow," he said absently as he scurried out of the door.

Bobby waited until he heard the front door shut behind Sam to round on the older brother. "Never thought I'd see the day John Winchester's oldest son would give up on a fight."

Dean blinked. "Bobby…," he trailed off with a sigh.

"Don't you dare 'Bobby' me, boy," the older hunter snarled as he marched to stand in front of Dean's bed with his hands planted firmly on his hips. "You need to cut the crap and start taking this physical therapy seriously."

"Look at me, Bobby!" Dean growled. "I'm useless! That therapist wanted me to wear diapers like a baby. I'm holding Sam back. He should just stick me in some facility like the doctors wanted in the first place and leave me. Either that or give me a gun so I can put myself out of my misery." Dean's face was twisted in anger and misery.

"Would you listen to yourself?" Bobby asked incredulously. "You're wallowing in self-pity, and never once have you considered how all of this is affecting your brother." He rubbed the back of his neck anxiously as he considered his next words. "Dean, he's lost his girlfriend and his father. That kid's life is ruined completely if he has to say goodbye to you, too."

"This is his chance at a normal life, Bobby. He can have everything he's ever wanted now, and I won't get in his way." Dean flopped his head back against the pillow and groaned as it throbbed mercilessly.

"You can stop using your brother as your excuse to whine like a school girl," Bobby snapped, suddenly at the end of his patience. "He needs you, Dean, and from what Sam has explained to me it sounds like you are starting to improve. Maybe you're just giving up on the physical therapy because it's hard."

The words were taunting and Dean nearly snapped. "I'm giving up because it's useless. Can't you see how useless I am?" He was shouting now.

"You're not useless. You're feeling sorry for yourself," Bobby shot back angrily. "Now, I'm going to get some sleep and stay a few days to help your brother. I'm glad I came. You need a good kick in the seat of your pants." Bobby whirled and left the room angrily.

When Sam returned a short time later, he had a bag from an all-night superstore. He took one look at the scowl on Bobby's face and frowned. "I take it things with Dean didn't go well."

"Your brother is as stubborn as an old mule," the older hunter growled.

A small grin quirked the corner of Sam's lips. "You don't need to tell me," he admitted.

"We'll get him through this, Sam," Bobby assured the younger man. "Don't you worry. We'll figure it out."

Sam heaved a sigh as he methodically placed the groceries in the cabinets. "I don't know, Bobby. It's Dean's nature to take care of others and put them before himself, but now he's the one that needs to be cared for. It's killing him."

"He's not the first person in the world to go through something like this, Sam," Bobby pointed out.

"No, no he's not," Sam stated, suddenly defensive, "but my brother has looked out for me since he was four years old. He doesn't know how to do anything else. Maybe we're being too hard on him."

"If you want him to regain full use of his legs, your brother is going to need some tough love," Bobby pointed out. "You can't let up."

"I hate to see him hurting, Bobby," Sam admitted as he leaned both palms against the counter and stared unseeing at the scarred wooden cabinets.

"I know you do, but we're going to figure this out, Sam. We won't let him down." Bobby clapped a reassuring hand on the younger man's shoulder and hoped he was speaking the truth.

To Be Continued…

Authors' Note: Thanks so much for taking the time to read! Please continue to keep Jared in your thoughts and prayers.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural. Neither of us are doctors, so please excuse any medical errors.

*This chapter was written by LadyWallace.

Not Right Now

Chapter Eight

Dean was still stubborn the next day and he was still angry with Sam for calling Bobby who had done nothing but come and yell at him. He would hardly talk to either of them and only allowed them to help him grudgingly because he didn't want the embarrassment of being unable to do it himself if he tried. He was dragged to therapy against his will and unleashed more of his surly annoyance on Joanna as she asked what had happened to his head upon seeing the stitches.

"He fell yesterday when he was practicing with the crutches," Sam told her quietly as Dean crossed his arms over his chest and glared at his brother.

"Dude, stop making it sound like I'm eighty," he growled, trying to ignore Bobby's warning look.

Joanna smiled pleasantly at him anyway. She was always pleasant and it just made him angrier. "It happens, Dean. You're pretty much having to learn to walk all over again and you can expect to fall, it will happen. Why don't we try some more exercises and I'll show you some tricks you can use to make using the crutches easier."

Dean endured the therapy session with gritted teeth. He just couldn't help but think how useless it was. He didn't care what Bobby said. So what if he was giving up? He was entitled after everything he had gone through. How dare someone else tell him that he had to work harder when it was his body and he knew what it could endure? Somewhere, he did feel bad for putting this pressure on Sam, but at the moment a bigger part of him wished they could understand that it was not a mercy to save him if he was not going to be whole at the end of it all. They didn't seem to realize that an existence without the use of his legs was worse than death, and it was cruel to keep him around in that half life. Maybe if he just refused to do what they wanted, he could make them realize that.

Be he couldn't do that completely either. Not when he couldn't look at Sam with his exhausted, pained expression and not feel a pang in his chest. Sammy was the only reason he hadn't blown his brains out yet, because he would care, even if the rest of the world didn't. But Dean couldn't even do his job in his condition, look after his little brother. In his heart, that was his ultimate failing and it would be easier to deal with if he were dead, because then he wouldn't be able to feel the helplessness.

They went back to the apartment and had lunch, Dean hardly eating anything again. Bobby looked like he wanted to say something as he saw the resigned look on Sam's face, but decided against it for the moment.

Sam let him rest for a couple hours before suggesting they do some more practice with the crutches to which Dean flat-out refused.

"I am not using those things again," he stated.

"Dean, you have to admit this is better than the wheelchair. It's one step closer to being back on your feet."

"It's too hard," Dean protested, the excuse sounding weak even to him. "I'll probably kill myself with them anyway."

"Well, boohoo, princess," Bobby stepped in, unable to help himself, pained at seeing the young man on the verge of giving up. "I'm sorry it's so hard for you, Dean, but suck it up, boy! You don't get to cry until you try it and work on it. Since when does Dean Winchester give up on anything? You are the most stubborn man I have ever met, but you need to apply it properly. You're not gonna just lie down and take it, are you?"

Dean rolled his eyes, muttering something under his breath that Bobby didn't really catch but figured was less than polite. "You roll your eyes at me, son? I'm not gonna take any of that off of you. Prove to me that you're not a coward."

"I'm not a coward," Dean grunted, not quite meeting Bobby's gaze.

"No? Well you look like one to me. Or lazy, giving up so easily. I tell you what, son, if your daddy could see you—"

"Well he can't, can he?!" Dean shouted suddenly, startling both Bobby and Sam who had moved away to clean up the kitchen. "He's dead! Because of me!"

Bobby stayed silent as he watched the young man in front of him lower his head into his hands. He immediately felt bad for bringing up John Winchester. He shouldn't have done that, even if it would work to get Dean motivated.

"I'm sorry, son," Bobby told him in a softer voice. "I shouldn't have said that. But you do have to keep trying, Dean. Don't make John's sacrifice in vain." He glanced at Sam and saw the younger Winchester standing there with a pained expression on his face, but he nodded slightly to Bobby in thanks. Dean raised his head, finally facing Bobby for the first time.

"Fine," was all he said, but it was a start.

Bobby took the crutches from the coffee table and handed them to Dean. "We'll be here with you, son. You don't have to do this alone."

Dean cooperated enough so that they could help him figure out the crutches and bit his tongue when he wanted to let out further complaints. He wanted to throw the crutches across the room but refrained, especially when he saw the slight relief that had entered Sammy's face. Sam even smiled at him when they had finished and he had only fallen several times and had always been caught by Sam or Bobby before he hit the ground again. He was still by no means in this all the way, but he supposed he could at least try to give his brother a little piece of mind.

Several more days passed, and between Bobby and Sam, Dean was being taken care of well and coaxed more and more on his physical therapy. He still had a long way to go, as Joanna explained, and Dean really couldn't feel much difference but maybe a little more feeling in his legs. They still felt like thousand pound weights when he tried to move though and he hated how skinny they were getting. Even with the exercises, there was no way they could have avoided him losing the muscle mass. Even if he did regain the full use of his legs, it would take months more of exercise for him to gain back the weight had was losing and strength enough in his legs to feel ready to hunt again. It just seemed that whenever he passed another step in the road to recovery, he was looking up a cliff at the rest. He knew he was depressed but he wasn't about to talk about that with Sam or Bobby and certainly not Joanna for all she coaxed him. Was it that much of a surprise? He had done his best to ignore the article he had caught briefly on Sam's laptop before his younger brother closed it about invalid depression. He knew his brother meant well, but he also knew there wasn't anything he could do for Dean unless he gave him the use of his legs back. But he was coping as well as he could, even if he wasn't as cheery as everyone seemed to want him to be. Why they expected anything different from him was beyond him, but for the most part, he did his best not to distress Sam any more than he had to.

And then came another event that made him snap.

It started as just an offhand thing. Bobby was talking about a hunt nearby at the breakfast table, something his friend Rufus had told him about, and he thought he would check it out.

"What is it?" Sam asked.

"Rufus wasn't sure yet, he just said there were strange deaths. He thinks shifters and from what I heard, I think he's right. Sounds like it might be more than one working together too."

"That's strange," Sam mused, his brow wrinkling. "This could be serious."

Bobby nodded. "That's why I wanted to head out and see if I could find out what's going on. Will you boys be okay for a couple days?"

"Yeah, we'll be fine, Bobby," Sam assured him, glancing at Dean with a slight question. Dean nodded.

Bobby headed out after breakfast and Sam took Dean to therapy as usual. The next day proceeded normally, and Bobby came back that night with a grim look on his face.

"It's worse than I thought. The reports are all mixed up, people being where they shouldn't be at the wrong time and showing up after supposed time of death. It's shifters all right," the older hunter told them as he sat down to dinner, which Sam served him.

"Are you going to be able to do this alone?" Sam asked worriedly. "It sounds like a big job, I could help…"

"No, Sam, you have to stay and look after your brother."

Sam cast Dean a slightly guilty look and his older brother was torn. Part of him wanted to send Sam off with Bobby so the older hunter wouldn't run into trouble, but the other part of him hated the fact that Sam would get to go on a hunt while he was still cooped up at home, barely able to get to the bathroom alone. He decided not to say anything, wanting to see the decision Sam made by himself.

"It would only be for a day at most," Sam said. "One of the nurses at the therapy center can come and check on Dean. We can't leave this for any longer, only more people will die."

Bobby sighed deeply. "Well, I could use your help, Sam, I'm not gonna lie, but I don't know if you should leave Dean."

"Stop talking about me like I'm not here!" Dean finally snapped, the most he had said at once for days. "If you wanna go hunt, Sam, go hunt, I can't stop you."

Sam looked cowed, but he nodded. "You'll be okay here?" he asked hesitantly.

"No, I won't be okay here, I'll be worried about not being there to watch your back," Dean told him. "That's why I'll come with you, I'll just stay in the car." Those last words practically burned his tongue, but he spat them out. Anything to be closer to his brother, even if he couldn't do anything.

"Dean, you're not coming, you're not strong enough yet, you could get hurt," Sam told him as gently as possible.

Dean slammed his fist down on the table. "Stop coddling me like a baby! I think I can manage to sit in a freaking car with a gun in my hand to protect myself. I might not have my legs, but I have full use of my brain!"

"Then use it!" Sam snapped instead. "Dean, you know it's a bad idea to go on a hunt injured. You're not only a danger to yourself but to who you're working with. I wouldn't be able to do my job if I had to worry about you."

"You can still help, son," Bobby told him, trying to smooth Dean's ruffled feathers. "I brought all the case files back with me, I need someone to go over them and look for similarities."

"Research?" Dean spat in disgust. "I'm a hunter, Bobby, not a scholar like you and Sam. I need to be out in the field, not stuck with dusty old books behind doors."

"Well, if you want to help, that's what you can do at the moment," Sam told him, still slightly annoyed. "You're just going to have to get used to it for a while."

"It's not my fault I can't walk, Sam!" Dean told him.

"Well, maybe if you would spend less time feeling sorry for yourself, you would have gotten better results by now!" Sam snapped before he was able to hold his tongue.

Dean just glared at him, then snagged the files from Bobby and resisted the urge to throw them across the floor. "Fine then. Get me a babysitter and go off to your hunt. I'll call you with what I find." He rolled his wheelchair to his room and slammed the door shut.

Sam sat slumped with his head in his hands. "Why can't I learn when to shut up?" he moaned.

Bobby put a kind hand on the back of his neck. "You're worried, son, I know. I understand, and so does Dean. He knows you don't really mean what you say. Give him time to cool off. For now, let's prepare for this hunt so we can get it over with and back to your brother as soon as possible."

Sam nodded and went to help Bobby gather the things they would need, all the time wondering if he had made a horrible mistake.

To be continued…

Authors' Note: Please continue to keep Jared in your thoughts and prayers.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to us. Neither one of us are doctors, so please excuse any medical errors.

*This chapter written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 9

Dean's head throbbed mercilessly as he stared at the files spread across his lap. He'd been reading over them for hours and everything was beginning to run together. He had no idea how Sam could ever possibly enjoy conducting research. Scrubbing a hand over his face, Dean took a moment to lean back against the pillows.

Concentrating hard, he stared at his toes and felt a brief moment of pleasure when he was able to move them the tiniest bit. The burst of joy only lasted seconds until he remembered how much work he had ahead of him before he could rejoin Sam out in the field. Frustration knotted his stomach and he ran a hand over his short hair before tossing the file in his lap to the side.

Too many people had died because of these shifters already. He should be out there hunting them and watching his brother's back, not stuck in a bed and reliant on a visiting nurse and a pair of crutches. He clenched his teeth together tightly which only served to worsen the headache that pounded behind his eyes.

Dean felt useless. He knew Bobby had already studied these files and had given them to him only to pacify him. Bobby never went into a hunt unprepared.

The elder Winchester glanced at the time on his watch. He had an hour before the nurse arrived to check on him. Maybe he could take a quick nap.

Sam fidgeted restlessly in the truck next to Bobby. He glanced at his watch and fingered his phone.

"Sam, your brother is fine. Stop worrying," Bobby sighed. "I need you to focus."

"I will, Bobby," Sam replied, "but Dean's been through a lot, and he's not in the greatest state of mind."

"Your brother won't hurt himself, if that's what you're thinking. He knows it would kill you, and no matter what is coming out of his mouth right now, Dean would never intentionally hurt you like that."

Sam's fingers absently toyed with a fraying string on the seam of his worn jeans. "I know. I just can't get the thought of him falling out of my mind."

"Sam, the nurse is going to check on him for us. He'll be fine. Have some faith in your brother."

The younger Winchester brother heaved a sigh. "I do, Bobby, but since Dad died, Dean hasn't been himself. He's been depressed and blaming himself. I don't know how to help him anymore."

"Just see him through this, Sam, one day at a time. That's all you can do for him." Bobby turned onto a dirt road and the truck bounced through deep potholes, throwing both men around inside the truck's cab.

"I guess," Sam sighed, "but he's always done so much for me. He practically raised me. I'm letting him down."

Bobby pulled the truck over into a stand of trees and cut the engine. "Tell me, Sam, how are you letting your brother down? You've given up your entire life to take care of him. Every decision you make is with him first and foremost in your mind. Your brother knows that, even if he doesn't show it, son."

Sam gnawed anxiously on his bottom lip as he thought over Bobby's words and then worked to push thoughts of his brother aside. Dean was fine for now. It was time to focus on the hunt. He owed it to Bobby and his brother.

Sam frowned at the two-story, rickety wooden house that sat on a lonely plot of land on the outskirts of town. Faded green shutters hung loosely around sagging windows. Porch boards bowed up on the ends and the entire house seemed to list slightly to the right. "I don't like this, Bobby."

"Me neither, but the sooner we're done here, the faster we can get back to your brother."

Sam nodded and slid out of the truck. He and Bobby armed themselves and headed for the porch with the skill of longtime hunters armed with the knowledge of what they were hunting. They entered the supposedly empty house with caution. It was easy to tell it had been vacant for quite some time. A lone chair sat turned over in what had once been a living room. A faded, dirty carpet covered the floor. Cobwebs hung in the corners. The plaster had crumbled off of the wall and the ceiling sagged from leaks. It smelled of dust and abandonment.

A small sound made Sam turn. "Bobby, look out!" A tall, slender man flung himself from the darkened hallway toward the older hunter and was followed by a second man with blonde hair and pale blue eyes. The second man turned his sights toward Sam. Sam lifted his gun and fired straight into the blonde man's gut.

Sam gaped in horror as the silver bullet wound to the gut did nothing to stop the creature that charged toward him. It wasn't a shifter. "Bobby," he gasped as he the gun was knocked out of his hands. "It's a ghoul!"

With a grunt, Bobby aimed for the head of the creature he was facing and fired two rapid shots. The ghoul was practically decapitated and fell in a lifeless heap to the ground. Bobby turned toward Sam and was knocked backwards as the ghoul the youngest Winchester was fighting threw a rickety chair in his direction. The gun was knocked from his hand as he fell, tripping over the body of the other ghoul. He landed flat on his back and his head slammed against the floor. Pain blossomed across the back of his head and down his neck. Sucking in a deep breath, he rolled over to his hands and knees and forced himself to his feet. Sam needed him. Dizziness assaulted him and black spots danced in his field of vision, but he swallowed and managed to right himself.

Grasping Sam in overly strong hands, the ghoul launched him through the air. The youngest Winchester slammed into the wall and then slumped to the floor in a dazed heap. "Sam!" Bobby yelled as he frantically scrambled across the floor to reach the gun that had been knocked out of his hand. He shook his head to clear the wooliness from his thoughts. Darkness still crept into the corners of his vision, but he pressed forward determinedly.

There was no response from the Sam at Bobby's yell; he was out cold. The dark-haired ghoul that had attacked Sam reached the young man's body and grabbed his wrist, twisting as an evil sneer graced his lips.

Sam cried out in agony and Bobby winced as he heard the snap of Sam's bone from across the room. Crawling the last few feet, Bobby's hand curled around the cool metal of the gun just as the ghoul turned back to him.

"Balls!" Bobby murmured shakily as his fingers fumbled with the gun.

The ghoul laughed and loomed overhead, his foot coming down to step on Bobby's uncooperative fingers.

A shot rang out from across the room, and the supernatural creature dropped into a blood-spattered heap on top of Bobby's battered body. "Bobby?" Sam nearly whispered, his voice breathy with pain.

The older hunter moaned and used the last of his strength to push the ghoul's body off of him. "Sam," he panted, "how are you holding up?"

"Wrist hurts," Sam ground out between clenched teeth. Sweat broke out on his forehead as his wrist throbbed and streaks of pain fired up his arm. Black spots danced before his eyes and he fought hard against the encroaching darkness.

"Stay with me, Sam," Bobby ordered as he shakily pushed to his feet.

Sam swallowed hard. "Trying," he gasped as he held his injured wrist against his body. "Need to call Dean."

"First we need to take care of you," Bobby informed him. "Then we'll call your brother."

"Dean will be worried," Sam moaned as Bobby attempted to help the younger man to his feet. "Gonna be sick," he gasped, just before he turned to the side and vomited all over the worn carpet.

Bobby struggled to keep Sam on his feet. His head was clearing now, and he was slowly beginning to feel more like himself. He knew that Sam's wrist was badly broken; it wasn't something he'd be able to take care of himself. "We need to get you to a hospital, Sam."

Sam wiped his mouth with the sleeve of his good arm. "Need to get back to Dean."

"And I will as soon as I get you taken care of," Bobby assured him. He nearly had to drag Sam out to his truck and the young man vomited once again when his wrist was jostled as Bobby tried to help him into the front seat of the old vehicle.

Sam leaned back against the headrest once he was finished. He ached all over and had run out of energy. His wrist and arm hurt so badly he wanted to cry, but he couldn't get his brother off his mind. "Bobby, we need to call Dean."

"Balls, Sam!" Bobby sighed. "Your wrist is most definitely broken and badly. Dean will skin me alive if I don't take care of you before checking on him."

"No, he'll be mad you didn't call him right away," Sam panted, groaning when the truck hit a pothole.

"Try not to puke in my truck," Bobby warned Sam even as he cast a worried glance toward the younger hunter.

"Then avoid the potholes," Sam informed him as he kept his eyes closed and attempted to regulate his breathing.

Back in the apartment, Dean shifted anxiously as the nurse helped him back into bed. He reached for his phone on the bedside table and checked the time. It was getting late in the day. He should have heard from his brother and Bobby by now.

"They'll be back soon, Mr. Winchester," the nurse smiled. "Do you need anything else before I leave?"

Dean shook his head. "They should have called by now."

"I'm sure you'll hear from them soon," she patronized him, patting his leg through the blankets.

Dean ignored her as she let herself out of the apartment. He considered calling his brother and then decided against it, knowing both Sam and Bobby would have turned off their phones so as not to be distracted on the hunt. Thirty minutes, he decided. If he hadn't heard from Sam in thirty minutes then he was calling his brother.

Bobby felt relief flow through him twenty minutes later as he pulled up to the emergency entrance of the nearest hospital. He clambered out of the driver's seat and hurried around the truck to help Sam. "Don't worry, son," he told the younger hunter softly. "They'll have you patched up in no time, and I'll make sure your brother is just fine."

Sam dropped with relief into one of the wheelchairs that waited inside the hospital's doorway.

"Wait here while I go park the truck," Bobby instructed.

"Don't worry," Sam sighed as he closed his eyes and tried to breathe through the pain. I'm not going anywhere."

Dean fidgeted restlessly in his bed; the nurse had been gone for thirty minutes. He should have heard from his brother and Bobby by now. Something was wrong. He dialed Sam's number and it went straight to voice mail. Bobby's phone did the same. Dean groaned in frustration and placed the phone on the table with a little more force than was necessary.

He picked up the car magazine Bobby had brought home from the grocery store last night and thumbed through it. Normally, it would have held his attention, but he snapped it closed when he realized that he'd read the same paragraph five times.

He hated feeling useless. Sam could be lying on the ground bleeding out somewhere and he was trapped in this apartment reading an auto magazine. He flung the offending reading material against the wall where it dropped to the floor in a flutter of bent pages.

Dean scrubbed a weary hand over his face and checked the time again. Something was definitely wrong. He started when the phone rang as he stared at it. Bobby's name flashed on the screen, and Dean answered it eagerly. "Bobby, how'd it go?"

"Wasn't shifters like we thought," the older hunter admitted tiredly.

Dean frowned. "But the research…" he trailed off.

"I know," Bobby sighed. "Listen, Dean, I'm here at the hospital with Sam."

"Sam's hurt?" Dean asked, his heart suddenly thudding violently inside of his chest.

"The doctor says he needs surgery," Bobby added hesitantly.

Dean's mind was reeling. His fingers fumbled with the phone as he swallowed hard, suddenly nauseous. Sam was hurt, and he hadn't been there to watch his back. "How bad, Bobby?" he asked in a voice thick with worry.

To Be Continued…

Authors' Note: Thanks so much for reading! Please continue to keep Jared in your thoughts and prayers.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural. We are not doctors, so please excuse any medical errors.

Author's Note: This chapter was written by LadyWallace.

Not Right Now

Chapter Ten

Dean took a moment to breathe as he listened to Bobby's reply. "He broke his wrist, Dean. It's a bad break, but that's all, and the doctor says he'll recover fully with the surgery."

Dean's hand that wasn't holding the phone gripped the sheets tight, and he breathed heavily, still trying to get over the shock of hearing that Sam had been hurt. "Bobby come get me, I need to see him."

"I'm on my way, son."

Dean ended the call and then threw the phone across the room with a scream of pent up emotions. This is exactly what he had been afraid of. That Sam wouldn't have anyone to watch his back and he would get hurt because of it. Why had he let him go?

Dean wanted to do nothing but leap up and drive to the hospital to be with his little brother, but he couldn't and it only made him angrier. Instead he waited impatiently for Bobby to show up.

"What happened, Bobby?" was the first thing Dean said, practically grinding his teeth.

Bobby sighed. "Dean, let's get you to the hospital, and we'll talk about it later. I promise your brother will be alright."

"Bobby!" Dean demanded.

The older hunter looked at him for a long moment before he said, "Like I said, it wasn't shifters like we thought. It was ghouls. We weren't ready for the silver bullets not to work."

Horror gripped Dean's chest, which was obviously what Bobby had anticipated because he was already continuing. "It wasn't your fault, Dean, and don't you dare blame yourself."

"I went over that research," Dean shouted. "We both did. It seemed so obvious."

"We all make mistakes sometimes," Bobby tried to soothe but Dean wasn't having any of it.

"I can't afford to make mistakes that will cost my brother's life!" he shouted. "This is why I don't research. I'm a hunter, Bobby, not a scholar. Apparently I'm no good for anything anymore, and now I almost got you and Sam killed!"

"Calm down, son, you ain't gonna help your brother like this."

"Well, I can't help him any other way either!" Dean exploded.

"Dean," Bobby sighed. "Let's just go see your brother. He just went into surgery before I left."

Dean clamped his mouth shut. So many things he wanted to say but he didn't have the strength for them. He just wanted to see his brother. Bobby helped him into the wheelchair and soon they were off.

Dean slumped in the wheelchair in the waiting room while Bobby talked to the nurse at the reception desk. He went to sit next to Dean after thanking the young woman, and Dean turned to him eagerly.

"Can I see him?" he asked.

"He's still in surgery, but he'll be out soon," Bobby assured him quietly. He noticed Dean rubbing his hands nervously against his legs and knew he was probably aching to pace off his pent up energy. He put a hand on Dean's shoulder and started rubbing the knotted muscles there.

"Calm down, boy," he told him gently. "Your brother's gonna be fine."

Dean shook his head, unable to say anything. His chest felt so tight with anxiety and he was nearly going insane being trapped in his chair. Back in a hospital again. He just couldn't seem to get away from them now days. It seemed like a cruel plot to keep driving home his father's death and now his own condition.

It seemed like an eternity before the doctor came out for them and said that Sam was in the recovery room and as soon as they got him into his own room they could go see him. Dean was about to demand to see him that instant, but Bobby kept a firm hand on his shoulder as he thanked the doctor. It didn't take long for them to get Sam settled and Bobby hurried Dean as fast as he could to his brother's room.

Dean's guts twisted as he saw his brother lying there in the hospital bed so pale and hooked up to the machines. His arm was in a cast and secured in a sling against his chest. He wasn't awake yet, and he looked so young and vulnerable to Dean that he almost couldn't stand it.

"Sammy," he whispered as Bobby parked his chair right beside the bed. Dean reached out and touched Sam's good hand carefully as if afraid it wouldn't be warm. But it was.

"I'm so sorry," he said quietly.

Bobby sighed. "Dean, son, you can't blame yourself for this. Sam doesn't."

"But I failed him Bobby," Dean said, his voice breaking slightly. He didn't even bother reining in his emotions. He was done trying, too tired to care. "It's my job to look after him, and I can't do that anymore. I failed him and I failed Dad, and I…I failed everyone, Bobby. I'm no good for anything anymore."

"Balls, Dean," Bobby said, shaking his head as he gripped the back of Dean's neck and pulled his head against his shoulder. He knew that if Dean were in any other state of mind, he would protest, but his boys were both hurting now, and Bobby wasn't going to let them go through it alone.

"You act like this is all your fault, Dean, but it was just bad luck. It wasn't anything you did, you just drew the short straw this time, and you can't let it get the better of you. You're a Winchester, son. You are the most stubborn breed of people I have ever seen, and you are the worst of them all. But you've got to apply it right, you've got to use that stubborn streak to fight this, kick it in the ass like you always do. That's what your daddy would want you to do, and that's what Sam wants too. Do you know how much it hurts him to hear you talk about giving up all the time? He needs you, Dean, and if you really don't want to let him down, then it's not about being there to watch his back hunting, it's about trying the best you can to get back on your feet. That's all Sam wants from you. He just wants his brother. He doesn't care if you're in a wheelchair or not, he just needs you there and needs you to keep fighting. You're all he has left and he can't lose you, physically or otherwise."

Dean took a shaky breath, Bobby's words striking home more than he cared to admit. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry," Bobby told him, rubbing his back. "It's not your fault."

"I'll—I'll try harder."

Bobby smiled and pretended not to notice as Dean swiped a stray tear away as he pulled away from the older hunter and fought to contain his emotions again.

Bobby squeezed his shoulder one more time before he stood up. "I think I'm gonna go get some coffee, you want some?"

Dean nodded as he turned his focus back to Sam, reaching out to brush the shaggy hair away from his pale forehead. It pained him to see the dark circles under his eyes and just the wear worry had worn into his face. They hadn't had much to smile about since Dad's death, but it had still been way too long since Dean had seen those dimples on Sam's cheeks flash as he smiled. He used to tease him about that when he was younger but Dean had always loved to see them because he knew they meant Sam was genuinely happy, that he wasn't just pretending for Dean's sake. He swallowed hard. If it would make Sam smile again, he would do anything, no matter how hard it was, to get back on his feet. He couldn't stand to think he was causing his little brother pain with his own stubborn stupidity. They had too much else to hurt them, they didn't need to cause pain to each other as well.

Sam suddenly shifted, a soft moan escaping his lips. Dean stilled his hand, leaving it on the top of Sam's head and mustered a small smile as his brother opened his eyes.

"Sammy, hey," he said quietly.

Sam blinked a bit to clear his vision, confused, but when he focused on his brother, he seemed to relax instantly. "D'n," he tried.

"How you feeling?" Dean asked him.

Sam winced. "Fuzzy. Tired. You good?"

Dean swallowed hard. "I'm alright. Sammy, I'm sorry I messed up with the researching; if I had looked at things a little harder maybe you wouldn't have gotten hurt."

Sam was shaking his head and reached out to grab the front of Dean's shirt almost to make sure he was actually there. "Not your fault. Just a stupid accident."

Dean took a deep breath. "Sam, I want to be there for you. I want to watch your back. I'm—I'm going to try harder to get better. I realize that I can't just sit here and feel sorry for myself forever and if you're going to get hurt because of it, then I know I can't. I've gotta look after you, and I sure as hell ain't gonna do it hopping around on crutches. So I'll do whatever it takes. I promise."

Sam's eyes brightened slightly and a small tired smile flicked across his lips. "You will? You'll do it for me?"

"Yeah, Samantha," Dean huffed a short laugh, rubbing his hand through Sam's hair fondly. "I wouldn't do it for anyone else. I hope you're happy."

In answer Sam just smiled wider and there was a dimple showing through which made Dean's heart feel lighter than it had in weeks. Months even. "Thank you, Dean," Sam told him, leaning into Dean's hand.

"Don't ruin it, bitch," Dean told him, trying to hide the smile that was attempting to make its way to his lips.

Sam grinned harder. "Jerk."

Dean pulled his head closer to the side of the bed as he leaned over and rested his forehead against Sam's, so glad to have his little brother there with him and that his injuries hadn't been worse.

This was the scene Bobby came back to, and it made him smile. He felt that things were looking up for the brothers, and hoped that Dean would keep his word and work toward getting back onto his feet as soon as possible.

Sam was allowed to leave the next day after the doctor watched him overnight just to make sure everything was okay. He was still kind of woozy from the pain medicine but he was glad to be leaving the hospital, if only so that Dean wouldn't have to stay there anymore. He had been really afraid that Dean would beat himself up about Sam's injury, and while he had, and he still was, there was a new, almost a calm, to Dean that Sam was shocked to see. He seemed almost resigned, and Sam hoped it would last long enough for him to work on getting better. Their earlier discussion had filled him with new hope and he felt he would be able to help his brother more too if Dean was willing to be helped. Even if he could really only be moral support with his broken wrist.

He was really glad he had called in Bobby because he wasn't able to do any of the heavy lifting when Dean needed help anymore, and even though he probably could have managed some of it, Dean wouldn't have it, refusing to be the cause of Sam getting himself hurt worse. Sam refrained from complaining, knowing that it wouldn't help Dean for him to get hurt again, so he did what he could and let Bobby handle the rest.

Dean was still grumpy about his physical therapy, but he would at least do it, and kept the cursing at the nurses to a minimum. The feeling in his legs was slowly coming back more and more, and it was getting easier for him to use the crutches.

Sam was helping him practice one afternoon as Dean staggered around, cursing under his breath as he fought to balance the crutches and steady his feet at the same time.

"You're doing good," Sam assured him as Dean cast him a look before he got tripped up on his feet again and tumbled before Sam could stop him. Dean tossed the crutches to the floor as Sam crouched to settle his hand on Dean's shoulder.

"I can't do this," Dean told him.

"Yes, you can," Sam assured him with a smile. "It's okay to get frustrated; it's hard to get used to, but you're doing much better. You looked like a drunk new born giraffe when you first started."

"Shut up," Dean said, but some of the heat had left him. He put his arm around Sam's shoulders and the younger Winchester hoisted him up with his good arm and stood with him for a second.

"Here," Sam told him. "Let me be your crutch for a minute."

"What, you want me to stand on your toes and do a little father-daughter dance?" Dean snarked at him.

Sam huffed a laugh. "No you jerk, just lean on me, and see if you can walk a little."

"I can barely move my legs, Sam," Dean protested, clinging tighter to his brother as Sam started dragging him. "It's like dead weight down there. Kinda feels like trying to stand on really heavy noodles."

"Just try," Sam insisted, pulling Dean upright against his side again. "Let's try to get to the couch."

Dean muttered something under his breath about 'stupid' and 'girly', but he tried to ground his feet and move them as Sam started forward slowly.

"Just one step at a time," Sam told him, pulling him forward.

Dean slid his right foot forward, falling against Sam as his knee started to buckle under him, but he shifted his left and was a little steadier. Sam pulled him forward again and Dean did the same, shuffling painfully slow across the few yards to the couch.

"You're doing good," Sam encouraged.

Dean tried to overstep, and almost fell, but Sam pulled him straight, his arm tightening around him. Dean growled but Sam offered more encouragement and steadied him. Dean concentrated really hard to take the last few steps and finally Sam lowered him to the couch, grinning as he took a seat on the coffee table in front of him.

"There, see? You're getting there."

"You practically dragged me here," Dean protested, but had to admit that he'd done better than he had expected.

"But you'll get better. It's actually probably time we schedule another hospital visit for some x-rays to see how you're healing."

"And what if nothing has changed?" Dean voiced his secret fears, rubbing his hand against his leg absentmindedly. He knew that if nothing really had changed he would feel like he was back at square one. He almost would rather keep on as he was not knowing any better, than to get bad news that would only discourage him further. He was trying so hard for Sam as he had promised, but it was really hard, and he couldn't deny that some days he just really wanted to quit. It was only moments like this, seeing Sam smile, proud, and happy for him, that made him go on.

"Whatever happens, we will get through it, Dean. I'll help you get through it," Sam insisted.

"We really need to stop having these chick flick moments," Dean grumbled, but did actually feel better, though he would never admit it to his brother.

Thankfully, Bobby came back from picking up food just then and broke the uncomfortably emotional moment.

"Ready to eat, boys?" he called to them.

Sam smiled at Dean and offered his good hand to him to help him into his wheelchair. "Everything will turn out well, Dean. You'll see."

Dean didn't really know if he believed that, but if it made Sam happy, he would agree for the moment.

To be continued…


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: Supernatural does not belong to us. Please forgive any medical inaccuracies as neither of us are doctors.

*This chapter was written by AnastaziaDanielle.

Not Right Now

Chapter 11

Sam shifted in his bed as the sun streamed through the window blinds and across his face. It had been yet another restless night filled with nightmares about his brother disappearing over the edge of a cliff, sometimes to land spread eagle at the bottom and other times descending straight into Hell. Beneath his cast, his arm itched like crazy as it began to heal. As he was contemplating ways to gain relief, the skin on the back of his neck crawled. He was being watched.

"Hey, Dean," he sighed, rolling over to find his brother's green eyes fixed on him with worry. Dean had managed to make his way into his brother's room using his crutches and now sat in Sam's desk chair.

"How's the arm?" Dean asked, frowning as he watched Sam scratch around the edge of the cast.

"Must be healing. It itches," the younger Winchester grouched. He glanced up to see a scowl on his brother's face. "Dean, you really need to let go of the guilt trip; I'm fine. We'd all read the research; everything pointed to shifters."

Dean scrubbed a hand through his short hair and shifted uncomfortably in the chair, his fingers playing anxiously with the edge of one of his crutches. "It was my job, Sammy, the only way I could have your back. I let you down, and it won't happen again." He watched Sam rub the sleep from his eyes with his good hand and it pulled Dean back to when his little brother was just a kid that depended on him for everything.

"If you need to hear it, I forgive you," Sam told Dean honestly; he knew guilt was eating his brother from the inside out. "I still don't think you did anything wrong. Bobby and I came to the same conclusion as you did after reading the research, and all of us are seasoned hunters."

Dean sighed. "All right, Samantha. Bobby has breakfast ready."

Sam shuffled slowly behind his brother to the small kitchen table. He was glad to see that Dean was gaining more confidence using his crutches. Sam couldn't drive with his broken wrist, so Bobby had been taking Dean to his therapy appointments each day. Pride flowed through him and he smiled at his brother's back. Dean was going to come back stronger than ever; Sam just knew it.

Dean settled into his chair at the table and placed his crutches to the side. Sam sat across from his brother and smiled at Bobby. "Everything smells great," he told the older hunter.

Bobby placed a plate in front of each Winchester. "Eat up. Dean, we need to leave for therapy shortly. Sam, if you want to ride with us, I'll drop you off at the store. You can get out a bit and pick up some things you need."

Sam considered the offer for a moment. It would be good to get out; he'd been cooped up in their small apartment too long. "That would be great, Bobby. Thanks." He shoveled a bite of eggs into his mouth. "I do need a few things."

Sam washed up and dressed quickly once he ate, and they headed to Dean's therapy with Bobby driving the Impala. Dean wasn't able to climb into Bobby's truck at the moment. They had to leave a little early because it took Dean longer to maneuver from place to place with his crutches. Bobby pulled into the parking lot of a small store down the street from the rehab center.

"I'll call you when Dean's about done, and we'll come pick you up," Bobby informed Sam.

The younger Winchester nodded. "I'll be ready." He tossed a grin at his brother and slid out of the Impala before slamming the door behind him. Taking his time, he wandered into the store and grabbed a small basket which he carried in his good hand. He meandered up and down the aisles slowly and picked up a new bottle of shampoo, a bag of peanut M &amp; M's, and a bottle of Tylenol. Then he browsed through the small book and magazine section, happy to be out of the confines of the apartment with something new to look at. He still had plenty of time before Dean would be finished with therapy.

Bobby held the door open for Dean as the younger man made it through slowly on his crutches. "You've made a lot of progress," Bobby assured him, knowing Dean felt like a failure each and every time he stumbled or fell.

Dean shook his head. "Not good enough, Bobby. I can't watch Sam's back if I'm like this. I'm the reason he's walking around with a bum wrist right now. I HAVE to get rid of these crutches and get my Winchester mojo back."

"And you will. Look how far you've come. Balls, Dean! Everyone else can see how close you are to a full recovery."

"Does this look like a full recovery to you?" Dean asked as he sank into a chair in the waiting room and raised a crutch to make his point.

Bobby heaved out a frustrated sigh. "Dean, these things take time."

"Time I ain't got," Dean argued back. "I need to be watching my brother's back."

The door to the waiting room opened, and Dean's physical therapist smiled at them. "Hi, Dean. Hello, Bobby."

"Hi, Joanna," Bobby grinned.

Dean managed a half smile and used his crutches to hoist himself to his feet.

Joanna held the door open for him. "Good to see you, Dean. I think you look even steadier on your feet today than you were yesterday."

Dean grunted. "Not good enough, Joanna."

"Well, then let's get busy. The harder we work, the sooner you're back to your old self." She turned, her strawberry blonde ponytail swinging behind her, and led Dean to the therapy room.

Sam entered the rehab center about forty minutes later and found Bobby in the waiting room looking up at him in surprise. He smiled at the older man. "I finished up at the store, so I thought I'd come see what kind of progress my brother is making."

"Progress being a nuisance," Bobby sighed.

Sam just shook his head. "Dean won't be satisfied until he's at one hundred percent, and he's going to get there. I'll see that he does."

One of the other therapists poked her head through the waiting room door. "Sam, I thought I heard you out here. You need to get back to the therapy room quickly." A grin curved her lips.

Sam's heart lurched. "Is Dean all right? Did he fall and hurt himself?" He dropped his bag of groceries to the floor and hurried after the therapist.

Bobby frowned, but bent to pick up the groceries. He'd let Sam care for his brother. It would make both Winchesters more comfortable.

Sam followed the other therapist and nearly trampled her when she pressed a hand to his chest to slow him down.

"Look," she murmured as she opened the door soundlessly.

Sam stared in wonder as Joanna took Dean's crutches away from him. His brother wobbled for a moment before regaining his balance. With determination on his face, he took one, then two, and then three steps before grasping for the support of Joanna's arm with a look of triumph on his face.

Sam's feet propelled him forward toward his brother. "Dean, you did it!" he enthused, startling himself when he felt wetness on his cheeks.

Dean's eyes widened as he caught sight of his brother hurrying toward him. "Sam?"

"I knew you could do it," Sam grinned, slapping a hand to his big brother's shoulder.

Joanna stepped back as Sam settled his good hand on his brother's arm after wiping the tears from his cheeks. "Why don't you help Dean instead of me since you'll be the one doing it at home?" she smiled although she didn't go far due to Sam's broken wrist.

Dean scowled. "I'm not a baby."

Sam gave him a look. "Do you want to fall again and have to get your head stitched up?"

Dean clamped his mouth closed, but Sam could see the tightness around his eyes. His big brother hated needing help of any sort even after all of these weeks of recovery.

"Want to rest before you try again?" Sam asked softly.

A frustrated sigh escaped Dean's lips. "Give me a sec," he murmured as he allowed a little more of his weight to rest against his tall, solid baby brother.

Sam waited quietly, reveling in the fact that his brother was standing without his crutches. He swallowed around the lump that filled his throat at the thought. Dean would be glowering at him if he caught any more tears and would insist on no more "chick flick moments."

"Okay," Dean announced as he steadied himself against his brother.

"Ready?" Sam asked, his good arm holding onto Dean tightly.

"Yeah, you can let go, but don't go far." Dean's brow was creased in determination.

"I won't," Sam promised with his eyes glued to his brother.

Dean took another three steps before his legs began to wobble beneath him. Sam grasped his arm quickly as Joanna quickly produced the crutches and helped Dean get a secure hold on them.

"Great job, man," Sam praised as his eye lit up with pride. "I knew you could do it."

Dean squirmed uncomfortably under the praise. "If I hadn't been such a-"

"Dean, just drop it," Sam sighed. "You're on track now, and that's what counts."

The older Winchester quirked an eyebrow at his younger brother. "Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam retorted as he grinned at Dean.

Joanna just chuckled at the brothers. "Okay, Sam, if you'll go get Bobby I'll show the two of you some things you can help Dean with at home. Now that's he's back on his own two feet we need to build up his endurance."

Sam nodded and squeezed Dean's shoulder, allowing his brother to see the pride in his eyes before he went out to the waiting room to retrieve Bobby. He found the older hunter flipping through a magazine with disinterest. "Bobby, Joanna wants to show us some things we can work on with Dean this week."

Bobby tossed the magazine to the side and stood. He handed Sam the small bag of groceries. "Is Dean okay?" he asked in concern.

Sam nodded. "Wait till you see," he grinned.

A slow smile spread across Bobby's face. "He walked, didn't he?" When Sam nodded, Bobby beamed happily. "I knew he could do it; he just needed to believe in himself."

"He's going to be all right, Bobby; I'm going to have my brother back." Sam gripped his grocery bag and nearly tripped over his own two feet in his eagerness to get back to Dean.

"Easy, Sasquatch," Dean called across the room after watching his brother nearly fall. "You'll be the one in here working with Joanna if you keep that up."

"Bite me," Sam retorted without any heat.

"Care to show Bobby your new skill?" Joanna asked. "I know you're getting tired."

"I can do it," Dean argued as Sam stepped to his side.

Joanna took the crutches as Dean concentrated on getting his balance. Then he took two tentative steps before his legs nearly gave out and he latched onto his brother for balance.

"That's great, Dean!" Bobby enthused. "I'm proud of ya, son. Sam and I knew you had it in you."

Dean sagged against Sam as exhaustion took over. "Come on, dude. Let's get you to a chair. I know your legs must be tired."

Dean only grunted, but sank gratefully into the chair Joanna brought to him.

She smiled. "You worked hard today, Dean. I think your recovery will speed up from here on out."

"Good," the elder Winchester replied in earnest. "I need to be back at work with my brother."

The therapist smiled. "I wish my sister and I were as close as the two of you. We're always at each other's throats."

Dean squirmed a bit uncomfortably in his chair. "Didn't say he wasn't a pain every now and then."

Sam punched his brother in the shoulder. "Hey!"

Joanna laughed. "Okay, well, good job today, Dean. I'll see you the day after tomorrow. Sam, let me show you and Bobby what you need to be doing at home with Dean."

Dean sighed with relief a short time later when he was finally settled in the front seat of the Impala. His legs twitched involuntarily; they weren't used to being used.

Sam leaned over the back seat. "How are your muscles?"

"Tired. Sore," Dean grunted as he leaned back against the headrest.

"I was thinking maybe we could go out to eat to celebrate Dean's success," Bobby suggested as he put the key in the ignition and the familiar rumble of the Impala's engine filled the air.

"NO!" Dean stated emphatically. "Everyone will be staring at me."

Sam immediately jumped to his brother's aid. "Maybe we could get some take-out, something Dean really likes, and celebrate back at your place," he suggested to Bobby instead.

Bobby looked slowly between the brothers and almost said something to Dean, but changed his mind at the last moment. "All right," he nodded. "What would you like, Dean?"

Dean relaxed back into the seat when Bobby agreed to Sam's idea. He just wasn't ready to face public places yet. "Ummm….maybe we could try that gourmet burger place."

Sam nodded. "I can go in and get a menu for you to look at," he offered with a glance at Bobby.

The older hunter agreed and soon pulled into the parking lot of the busy restaurant. Sam went inside to get menus, leaving Dean with Bobby in the car. Happiness welled inside of him as he thought of Dean taking those few steps on his own. Pretty soon Dean would be back behind the wheel of the Implala. Sam couldn't wait.

To Be Continued…


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: We do not own Supernatural.

*This chapter written by LadyWallace.

Not Right Now

Chapter Twelve

As the days passed Dean got better and better, having to use the crutches less and less. Sam and Bobby watched as he recovered, the younger Winchester feeling better than he had in a long time—since their father died. Just seeing Dean working through this, and not giving up put a warm joy in his heart that he hadn't known he could even feel anymore with everything that had happened to them. It made him think that everything might possibly be okay again, not just for Dean but for both of them.

They went back to the hospital for x-rays and the doctor was glad to announce that Dean had suffered no lasting damage and that a complete recovery would be certain as long as he continued his therapy and worked to build up his muscles again.

The news seemed to be the defining moment for Dean. It was like now he knew there was actually a light at the end of the tunnel it only made him work harder. He still got discouraged at how quickly he became exhausted, and he was slightly self-conscious about how skinny his legs had gotten from the loss of muscle mass, but he was in a much better mood, knowing that he actually would be able to get back into the game and help Sam hunt again. He wasn't going to leave his little brother alone. Not now.

The day Sam's cast came off was the day Dean got up for the first time and showered and dressed himself without help. They got ice cream and told themselves they were celebrating for each other. The week after, Dean sometimes forgot his crutches beside his bed or the couch throughout the day. He had to lean on things or Sam's shoulder a bit still, but he was able to mostly get around the apartment without the crutches if he wasn't going too far.

"He's doing good," Bobby told Sam one night after Dean had gone to bed, exhausted after a particularly rigorous day at therapy.

"I knew he could when he finally put himself to the task," Sam said, proud of his big brother.

Bobby rested a hand on Sam's shoulder. "You know it's all because of you, Sam. You boys are so stubborn, but you'd move heaven and earth not to let the other down. I knew Dean would come around with your help eventually."

"Yeah, even if I had to break my wrist to do it," Sam chuckled. "It was worth it though."

Bobby shook his head. "Idjits," he said fondly.

A few days later, Sam asked Dean if he wanted to go to the store with him and to his surprise, Dean agreed.

Sam packed the crutches even though Dean didn't seem to want them. He was doing better with walking longer distances, but he still got tired pretty quickly and Sam wanted to make sure he would have them if he needed them.

"I don't need those, Sam," Dean insisted, of course, once they got to the parking lot and he pulled himself out of the car.

"I'm going to bring them just in case," Sam insisted, inviting no argument. "It will be a lot of walking."

Dean grumbled and rolled his eyes, but he let Sam pack them into the cart. They went slow, and Dean kept one hand on the cart to stay steady, but Sam was just glad to see his brother interested to be out in public again. He had been such a recluse lately, which had worried him. Dean wasn't a socialite by any means, but he had always been interested in hanging out in bars to pick up women and he had never liked being cooped up which he had been doing to himself on purpose for the past few months. Sam knew this was just another step in his recovery that was a reason to be happy about. The fact that he was also interested in food enough again to pick stuff out was a bonus. Sam hadn't liked seeing how skinny Dean had gotten, not just from his inactivity, but from his lack of appetite for the longest time. He was just starting to get back to a healthy weight and color.

Of course, Dean was still on the road to recovery, and he tired out before they finished shopping, just as Sam had predicted. His legs were trembling and he almost collapsed before Sam grabbed his elbow to steady him.

"You good?" Sam asked, waiting for Dean to tell him what he needed instead of saying it for him. This was something Sam had learned in the latter stages of Dean's recovery. It seemed to make everything go smoother.

Dean caught his breath, then shrugged. "Maybe I'll just use the crutches for a couple minutes."

Sam silently pulled them from the cart and stood close as Dean steadied himself. They finished the shopping with Dean using the crutches and when they went up to pay, Dean self-consciously cast a look at the pretty blond cashier. He was shocked to see her smiling at him, not in a way that she pitied him for being on crutches, but in the way girls used to look at him. Dean gave her one of his best smiles back and winked at her.

When Sam paid, she handed Dean the receipt though Sam had to take it so Dean could use the crutches.

"Dude, see, you still have it," Sam told his brother with a grin as he showed Dean the phone number scrawled at the bottom of the receipt under Megan. "What did I tell you?"

Dean snatched the paper from him with a grin and stuffed it in his pocket. "Hm, I guess I do. Either that or Megan just likes men who need a little tender loving care."

Sam huffed a laugh and rolled his eyes as he helped Dean into the car and loaded the groceries, but he felt so happy for his brother. He knew that one of Dean's concerns were that no woman would want him in his current state, but being proved wrong was just another step to full recovery. Sam found he had begun to keep a mental list to be checked off. There was really just one thing left, which he hoped could be rectified soon.

The next day at therapy, which they were going to only twice a week now, Sam's question was answered without him even having to ask Joanna.

"Now that you're able to fully move your legs, you'll be able to do more things than before, even if you still have to rest during longer walks," the therapist told Dean with a smile. "In fact, I would say you can probably start getting used to driving again."

This news hit Dean like a ray of sunshine; Sam almost saw it light up his face. He couldn't help but grin for his brother's sake. Sam knew how hard it had been for Dean to have to ride in his baby every day without being able to sit behind the wheel. In fact, on more than one occasion, he had gone outside with Sam to do tune-ups, and order him around as he washed the Impala, saying he wasn't doing it right. Normally it would have annoyed Sam, but he had suffered through it, knowing that it was all Dean could control about his beloved car at that moment, and he could at least do that.

They planned to do some driving practice that afternoon.

Dean almost tripped himself up in his excitement to get to his baby. Sam followed behind, feeling almost awkward as Dean slid behind the wheel and stroked the dashboard.

"Hey, Baby," he whispered with a ridiculously happy grin on his face, his eyes bright with emotion. "Did you miss me?"

Sam handed him the keys as he slid into the passenger seat, watching as his brother turned the engine over, eyes closed and smiling as the engine rumbled familiarly as if greeting Dean back into the driver's seat.

"I missed you too, Baby," he said.

"You want me to leave you two alone?" Sam had to ask with a smirk.

Dean shot him a look, but he was still grinning, too happy to be annoyed by his little brother at the moment. "Let's try this." He looked down to make sure his foot was on the right pedal and then put the car into drive, easing his foot off the break as if he were just learning to drive. The Impala glided forward and Dean switched his foot to the gas, rolling out of the parking space to the back of the apartment complex where there was an empty lot to drive in. It felt like coming home, and Dean suddenly felt like everything he had been through, all the hardships that he had endured since his injury were worth it.

After a few circuits he stopped, cutting the engine, full of emotion he didn't want to admit to, but couldn't deny.

"Dean, you good?" Sam asked after a few seconds as he sat there in silence.

Dean turned to his little brother, a small smile on his lips. "Sam, thank you."

"For what?" Sam asked, genuinely surprised.

Dean rolled his eyes and sighed, but he continued on. "If it hadn't been for you, I would have died out on that mountain or soon after. I really didn't have any will to live when it first happened, Sam, I didn't have any fight in me." He swallowed hard. "But you fought for me, and somehow you pulled me out of the hole I was falling into. I don't know how you did it, Sam, hell, I know how stubborn I can be, but you did, and I just wanted to thank you, because you believed in me when I didn't and I know for a fact that I wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for you."

"You're my brother, Dean," Sam said, his eyes watery after Dean's speech. "There's nothing in this world I wouldn't do for you."

"Same here," Dean told him sincerely, then hearing the sniffing, reached out and grabbed Sam's jacket, pulling him hard against his chest. "Just, thanks for not giving up on me."

"Thanks for not giving up," Sam whispered back and squeezed Dean tightly, suddenly so grateful that he could do so. That he still had his brother with him. He didn't know what he would have done if he had lost him.

Dean ran a hand through Sam's hair, before pushing him back again. "Come on. I wanna take my baby out on the open road," Dean told him, turning the car back on and flipping the radio stations until he found a classic rock one, then he put the Impala into gear and drove out of the parking lot.

"Where are we going?" Sam asked with an amused smile, relieved at finally seeing his brother back to normal, like nothing had happened.

"Anywhere we want, Sammy," Dean told him with his usual careless grin. "Anywhere we want."

The End


End file.
